Swelling with pride and the consciousness of duty done, she displayed and descanted on her treasures and the convenient arrangement thereof; the old diamond-cut glass; the Bow, the Staffordshire, the Swansea, the Derby cups and saucers, and plates and dishes—crockery bought in the common way of life, and now of inestimable value. She showed her goodly piles of linen and damask, which a Flemish housewife might have envied. She led her guests to the dairy, which in its smaller and humbler way was as neat and dainty and ornamental as Her Majesty’s dairy at Frogmore. She talked learnedly of butter-making, cream-cheeses, and the disposal of skim milk. Daphne wondered to find how large a science was this domestic management of which she knew absolutely nothing. ‘A house of this kind requires a great deal of care and a great deal of thought,’ said Mrs. Turchill with a solemn air. ‘Old servants are a great comfort, but they have their drawbacks, and require to be kept in check. With a young, inexperienced mistress I’m afraid they will be tempted to take many liberties.’ Mrs. Turchill concluded her speech with a gentle sigh, and a regretful glance at Daphne—not an unfriendly look, by any means; but it expressed her foreboding of future ruin for the house of Hawksyard. CHAPTER XXIII. ‘AND COME AGEN, BE IT BY DAY OR NIGHT.’ The next three days passed somewhat slowly at South Hill. Unselfish as Madoline was, even her delight in Daphne’s engagement could not altogether compensate for Gerald’s absence. Life without him hung heavily. She missed him at all those accustomed hours which they had spent together. In the bright noontide, when he rode over fresh and full of vivacity after a late breakfast; in the afternoon dusk, when they had been wont to waste time so pleasantly beside the low wood fire; in the evening; always. He had been away for three days, and she had received only one shabby little letter—just a few feeble sentences explaining that he had been obliged to run up to London at an hour’s notice to see his lawyers upon some dry-as-dust business relating to his Stock Exchange investments. He hoped to settle it all speedily, and come back to Warwickshire. The letter gave her very little comfort. ‘I am afraid he is being worried,’ she said to Daphne, after she had read this brief communication two or three times over. ‘It is not like one of his letters.’