Renwick, which had been a quiet fishing village a few years ago, was now metamorphosed with surprising rapidity, by the enterprise of its newly formed Parish Council, into a fashionable watering-place, with pier, concert-hall, esplanade and palatial hotels all complete, for the pleasure and comfort of the summer visitors, and also incidentally for the personal profit of the members of the aforesaid Council: a state of things much regretted by the residents in the neighbourhood, whose peace was disturbed during the holiday season by char-a-bancs and picnic parties. So much Marion Heathcote had explained in her last letter. Philippa sat enthralled by the beauty of the country through which she passed. The wide-spreading cornfields, the cosy flint farm-houses, with their red roofs, the byres and orchards, the glitter of the placid Broads lying calm and serene under the summer sun, reeds and rushes reflected as in a mirror on the water, which was so still that hardly a ripple disturbed its even surface. It was so utterly unlike anything she had ever seen that it possessed for her an intense fascination. Later, as she was approaching the end of her journey, her first view of the low heather-crowned hills made her heart thrill. A freshness in the air, and the curious one-sided appearance of the wind-swept trees, made her aware of the nearness of the sea--then presently she saw it--just a line of deeper blue against the azure of the sky, with the square tower of Renwick Church girdled with clustering red roofs clearly visible in the middle distance. In a few moments the train stopped, and she alighted at the station to find a carriage drawn by a fine pair of horses awaiting her. The long drive in the cool of the waning sunlight was to her pure delight. The road led first through beautiful beechwoods, out into the open country where low banks, bright with wild flowers--scabious, willow-herb and yellow ragwort--divided the corn-fields, now golden and ready for harvest; up on to a wide heath where the bell heather flooded the landscape with glowing purple light--through pine-woods dim and fragrant--and so on until the carriage turned through a gateway, past a low lodge of mellow ancient brickwork, and entered a well-kept carriage drive. A few minutes more and Philippa was being assisted out by her host, and warmly welcomed by Marion, to the accompaniment of the cheerful if noisy greetings of two West Highland terriers who squirmed and yapped in exuberant hospitality. "At last," said Marion, embracing her fondly. "I expect you are very tired." "Oh no," replied Philippa quickly, "I thoroughly enjoyed the journey--every moment of it." "Come in and have some tea," said Major Heathcote. "Isn't it too late for tea?" "Never too late for tea with your sex, is it?" he returned, laughing. "I thought ladies always wanted tea!"