Banbury and Banbury’s forewoman came to the Water House with boxes of crape and rolls of bombazine, and the governess and her pupil were measured for garments of unutterable woe. And now, at nineteen, Beatrix found herself on the threshold of a new life, a life of supreme independence. Wealth, and liberty to do what she pleased with it, were hers. Mr. Dulcimer was likely to prove the most indulgent of guardians; Mr. Scratchell was subservient to the last degree, his sole anxiety being to retain his position, and to ingratiate himself and his family in Miss Harefield’s favour. ‘If Mrs. Scratchell can be useful in any way, pray command her,’ said the village lawyer. ‘She will be only too proud to serve you, Miss Harefield, but she would be the last to obtrude her services.’ ‘I do not think you need entertain any apprehensions as to Miss Harefield’s being properly taken care of, Mr. Scratchell,’ Miss Scales remarked, stiffly. ‘She has Mr. Dulcimer--and she has me.’ Mr. Scratchell rumpled the scanty bristles at the top of his bald head, and felt himself snubbed. ‘Neither Mrs. Scratchell nor myself would wish to obtrude ourselves,’ he said, ‘but Miss Harefield being fond of Bella might like to make use of Mrs. Scratchell. She is a very clever manager, and might put Miss Harefield in the right way with her servants.’ ‘Miss Harefield’s servants know their duties, and do not require managing, Mr. Scratchell. I should be very sorry to live in a household where the servants had to be managed. The bare idea implies a wrong state of things.’ ‘Well,’ exclaimed Mr. Scratchell, testily, ‘I don’t want to press myself or my family upon Miss Harefield--although I am joint executor with Mr. Dulcimer, and had the honour to enjoy her father’s confidence for five-and-thirty years. I should be very sorry to be intrusive. And there’s Bella, she has made a very long stay here, and she’s wanted badly elsewhere. If Miss Harefield is agreeable she had better come home.’ ‘She must do as she likes,’ Beatrix answered, listlessly. ‘I am a very dull companion for her.’ ‘Dear Beatrix, you know I love to be with you,’ murmured Bella, in her affectionate way, ‘but I think I ought to go home, as papa says. Poor Mrs. Piper is so ill, and the young Pipers get more troublesome every day. Their holidays are too trying for her. I believe I ought to resume my duties.’ ‘I am sure you ought,’ said her father, who was bursting to assert his independence. He did not mind how subservient he made himself to Beatrix, but he was not going to knuckle under to Miss Scales. ‘I met Mr. Piper in the village yesterday, and he told me the house was all at sixes and sevens for want of you.’