Then his thoughts took a different turn. He was entering a park, evidently of wide extent, and finely wooded. The road through it had long fallen out of repair, and was largely grass-grown. A few sheep were pasturing on it, and a few estate cottages showed here and there. Sir Henry looked about him with quick eyes. He understood that the Inspection Sub-Committee, constituted under the Corn Production Act, and on the look-out for grass-land to put under the plough, had recommended the ploughing up of all this further end of Mannering Park. It carried very few sheep under its present management; and the herd of Jersey cattle that used to graze it had long since died out. As for the game, it had almost gone--before the war. No use, either for business or play! Then--on this early autumn day of 1917--Sir Henry fell to musing on the vast changes coming over England in consequence of the war. 'Who would ever have believed that we--_we_ should put ourselves to school as we have done? Military service, rations, food-prices, all our businesses "controlled," and now our land looked after! How much of it has come to stay? Well, it won't affect me much! Ah! is that the Rector?' For a hundred yards ahead of him he perceived a clerical figure, spare and tall, in a wideawake hat, swinging towards him. The September sun was westering, and behind the approaching man lay broad stretches of wood, just showing here and there the first bronze and purple signs of autumn. The Rector, recognizing the solitary rider, waved his hand in welcome, and Sir Henry pulled up. The two men, who were evidently personal friends, exchanged greetings. 'You're going to the Hall, Sir Henry?' said the Rector. Sir Henry described his business. The Rector shook his head reflectively. 'You haven't announced yourself, I hope?' 'No, I took that simple precaution. I suppose he's already pretty savage?' 'With whom? The Committee? Yes, you won't find him easy to deal with. But just at present there's a distraction. His new secretary arrived some weeks ago, and he now spends his whole time, from morning till night, dictating to her and showing her his things.' 'Secretary? A woman? Good heavens! Who is she?' 'A great swell, I understand. Oxford First Class in Mods, Second in Greats. I've only just seen her. A striking-looking person.' 'Why isn't she in France, or doing munition work?' growled Sir Henry. 'I don't know. I suppose she has her reasons. She seems patriotic enough. But I've only exchanged a few words with her, at a very hurried luncheon, at which, by the way, there was a great deal too much to eat. She and Pamela disappeared directly afterwards.' 'Oh, so Pamela's at home? What's the name of the new woman? I suppose she's to chaperon Pamela?' 'I shouldn't wonder. Her name is Miss Bremerton.'