At last, when nobody but Isobel herself had made the slightest attempt to speak for nearly five minutes, Barnby, the butler, appeared with tea, followed by two maids with trays and cake-stands. He was just in time to save his mistress from committing the social solecism of uttering a loud scream. He also furnished Lady Anderson with further material for acid comment. Fixing her lorgnette (an instrument of torture with which she did dire execution) on her nose, she eyed the approaching procession with pained surprise. Then, turning to Isobel, she informed her: (1) That in her opinion it was a fundamental error to have tea out of doors. Men did not like it. At _her_ hospital tea invariably took place indoors, whatever the weather. (The two dispirited officers she had brought with her caught one another's eye at this point and exchanged a wan smile.) (2) That in her opinion it was a fundamental error to run a hospital with servants. Men did not like it. At _her_ hospital all the work was done by V.A.D.'S--so much pleasanter. (Another wan smile, hardly complimentary to the V.A.D.'s,--was exchanged.) "But, of course, dear Miss FitzPeter," concluded the lady; "here they have you. How could they ask more than _that_?" She left no room for doubt in the minds of her audience that in her private opinion one could ask a great deal more than that. At that moment, any one of the thirty or so people present would cheerfully have drowned or strangled the speaker, but nobody was bold or rash enough to engage her in wordy warfare. Isobel, heroically preserving a dogged society smile, was devoutly thankful that Denis was not there to do battle for her. He would only have made matters infinitely worse. As it was she was anxious about Sir Edward, who was fidgeting on his chair, obviously only prevented from an explosion by his sense of duty as host. Fortunately a diversion occurred in the shape of the vicar and his wife, and Isobel breathed an audible sigh of relief. She had little love for Mrs. Davies, but on this occasion there was nobody whom she would more gladly have seen, for she knew that the task of entertaining Lady Anderson would now be transferred to other and enthusiastic hands. Mrs. Davies had for Lady Anderson a passionate regard almost amounting to adulation--a regard which the cantankerous old dame made no attempt to reciprocate. This fact failed utterly to dash Mrs. Davies; snubs and slights slid off her back like butter from a hot stove, and she continued on every possible occasion to absorb large quantities of blacking from Lady Anderson's shoes with every appearance of delight. On seeing the little, black-clad figure now she rushed forward, hardly noticing Isobel at all in her eagerness. "_Dear_ Lady Anderson," she cooed. "How perfectly _delightful_ to see you and how _sweet_ you look."