That young lady when addressed was indulging in a luxurious country yawn, an operation by no means to be hurried, but to be fully and lazily enjoyed in all its several and long-drawn stages, and as thus practised a wonderfully calming and soporific relaxation wholly unknown to the fretted denizens of cities, whose yawn is one of irritation and not of rest. "I do so enjoy your Plainfield yawns, Lucy," she said when she had quite finished. "Were you saying that it was a little dull? Well, perhaps it is, but then the trees and things seem to be enjoying themselves so hugely that it would be selfish to make a fuss, even if it isn't exactly my kind of fun." "Your kind of fun is due by the six-o'clock stage, I believe." The other laughed and said, "I wish you wouldn't make another allusion to George. I think of him so much that I'm ashamed as it is. I'm sure this is a very aggravating place for an engaged girl to be at. One gets so dreadfully sentimental with nothing to take up the mind, especially with such monstrous moons as you have. I got fairly frightened of the one last night. It drew me out through my eyes like a big plaster." "Mabel French!" "I don't care: it did. That was just the feeling." There was no hurry about talking, for the rich, mellow summer silence had a body to it that prevented pauses from seeming empty, and it might have been half an hour afterward that Mabel suddenly leaned forward, putting her face close to the vine-trellis, and cried in a low voice, "Who's that? Do tell me! They're the very first persons who have gone by this afternoon, I do believe." A pretty phaeton was slowly passing, containing an elderly gentleman and lady. "Oh, that is only Lawyer Morgan and old Miss Rood," replied Lucy, just glancing up, and then down again. "They go out driving once a week regularly, and always at about this time in the afternoon." "They look like afternoon sort of people," said Mabel. "But why doesn't Lawyer Morgan take out his wife?" "He hasn't got any. Miss Rood comes nearest to that. Oh no, you needn't open your eyes: there's not a properer old maid in town, or old bachelor either, for that matter." "Are they relatives?" "No, indeed." "How long has this Platonic romance been going on, pray?" "Oh, ever since they were young--forty years perhaps. I only know by tradition, you see. It began ages before my day. They say she was very pretty once. Old Aunty Perkins remembers that she was quite the belle of the village as a girl. It seems strange, doesn't it?" "Tell me the whole story," said Mabel, turning round so as to face Lucy as the phaeton passed out of sight.