She was out of conceit with the excursion. All this "fuss"--as she expressed it in the primitive phraseology of inward reflection--spoilt it. She was rather out of humour even with Cousin Arthur. She did not mind Judith planning and scheming in the interests of family union; she was used to that and regarded it with an amused toleration. But she did not fancy Arthur's undertaking the same _rôle_. In her conception his proper attitude was that of a thorough-going partisan and nothing else. As such, he had been about to receive the tribute of that excursion. Now she was no more inclined to it. That sort of thing depended entirely on being in the mood for it. Arthur's--well, yes, Arthur's stupidity--and Margaret's--well, yes, Margaret's ungraciousness--had between them spoilt it. She felt tired of the whole thing--tired and impatient. "I think we'll wait for a safer day, Arthur." "All right. Just as you like." He was hurt, but felt himself in fault and attempted no protest; he knew that she was displeased with him--for the first time in all their acquaintance. So the car was countermanded. But the next day was no safer, nor the day that followed. Then came Friday, which was otherwise dedicated. Neither as a sentimental farewell nor as a family party did that excursion ever happen. CHAPTER XIX THE LAST ENTRENCHMENT On that Friday morning Arthur's seclusion--for thus his stay at Hilsey might be described, so remote it seemed from the rest of his life, so isolated and self-contained--was invaded by the arrival of two letters concerned with matters foreign to Hilsey and its problems or emotions.