“No, not quite--probably I shall next time. In one of the brown teapots she has on sale! She _was_ surprised--I wasn’t! She is getting quite dotty, and won’t have help; and there is Dilly, her pretty, flighty granddaughter, with nothing to do but flirt!” All that day Wynyard worked zealously, assisting the carpenter (who had come after all) and in unpacking and dusting books that had not seen daylight for thirty years. On this occasion, in spite of Miss Parrett’s condescending invitation, he dined at Holiday Cottage. That very same evening Mrs. Ramsay came to tea at the Manor, and was fervent in her admiration of the drawing-room, which praise Miss Parrett absorbed with toothless complacency, saying in her quavering bleat-- “I’m so glad you like it. Of course it was _my_ taste, and my ideas, and they are my things; but Aurea and Susan helped me--yes, and the chauffeur made himself useful.” Wynyard, who was working close by, felt inclined to laugh out loud. It seemed to him that he was everything but a chauffeur: window-cleaner, carpet-layer, messenger, and assistant carpenter--a good thing he was naturally pretty handy. And although all these extra burdens had been laid upon him, the first impulse to throw up the situation had died away; he did not mind what jobs the old lady set him to do, but would take them as all in the day’s work, for he had no intention of leaving Ottinge at present--he must have some consideration for Leila! * * * * * After tea, when Miss Parrett was engaged in scolding her domestics and writing violent postcards to her tradesmen, Mrs. Ramsay drew Aurea into the drawing-room. “Well, me dear,” and her dark eyes danced, “I did not say a word before your aunts, but I’ve _seen_ the remarkable chauffeur! I assure you, when I opened the door and found him standing there with a large box, you might have knocked me down with the traditional feather! I was taking the new dogs out for a run, and so we walked together to this gate.” “What do you think of him?” asked Aurea, carelessly, as she rearranged some daffodils in a blue bowl. “What do I think? I think--although he scarcely opened his lips--that there is some mystery attached to him, and that he is a gentleman.” “Why do you say so?” inquired the girl, anxious to hear her own opinion endorsed. “He is not a bit smarter than the Woolcocks’ men.” “Oh, it’s not exactly smartness, me dear, it’s the ‘born so’ air which nothing can disguise. His matter-of-course lifting his cap, walking on the outside, opening the gate, and, above all, his _boots_.” “Boots!” “Yes, his expensive aristocratic shooting boots; I vow they come from Lobbs. Jimmy got his there--before he lost his money.” “Perhaps the chauffeur bought them second-hand?” suggested Aurea. Mrs. Ramsay ignored the remark with a waving hand. “I cannot think what has induced a man of his class to come and bury himself here in this God-forsaken spot.”