Olivia missed her friends at Galvaston House, sorely, but she had more time to devote to Greta. One day they had a pleasant outing together. Greta, who still hankered after her old home, had proposed that she and Olivia should go down to Medhurst together. "It is only an hour's journey," she observed, "And there is a dear old inn where we could have tea. And just now it will be at its best. The horse-chestnuts will be out in the Grange garden, and the pink and white may at Ivy Dene." And Olivia consented readily. But though she thoroughly enjoyed the little expedition, and fell in love with Medhurst and the old church, the longed-for visit was only productive of disappointment to Greta. Ivy Dene, in Olivia's eyes, was not a desirable abode. The rooms were low and cramped, and had a mouldy, disused smell in them. Even the little three-cornered drawing-room with the bay-window overlooking the village green and the elm-tree did not please her. The solitary old man in a smock-frock, with a red handkerchief knotted loosely round his lean old throat, might be a picturesque object in the distance, but on wet days she fancied even the green might be a dreary outlook. As they sat over their tea in the little inn parlour she gave her opinion in her usual downright fashion. "Dear Greta," she said, "I do not advise your taking this step. Ivy Dene Lodge would want a good deal of money spent on it to make it decently habitable. And even if it were painted and papered from garret to basement it would never be a really comfortable house. All those small rooms opening into each other are so inconvenient. And then it is damp. I am sure Marcus would say so; and then I am certain you would be moped to death. There are no young people at the Grange. Only that stout, middle-aged couple we met in the pony-carriage, and the vicar is old and a widower. I do think it would be terribly dull for you." And Greta owned rather regretfully that her friend was right. Her poor little air-castles had crumbled into nothingness. Her longings for the sweet country air and rustic quiet were doomed to be frustrated. In her heart she felt that Olivia was wise. A solitary life at Ivy Dene would hardly content her. And after all was she so ready to leave Brompton? She had found friends there--real friends--the Luttrells and Mrs. Broderick and the Gaythornes, and though she still felt terribly lonely in her big house, perhaps it would be better for her to wait a little. "I suppose I should feel rather like a ghost if I tried to settle here," she said, presently. "I do not think so badly of poor little Ivy Dene as you do. It would be quite large enough for me, but somehow Medhurst itself seems changed." After tea they walked to the Grange, and asked leave to go into the garden, and Greta showed her friend the lime walk, and the orchard and the big elm-tree where they had swung their hammock.