And then suddenly a deadly hush fell on these discussions, and even those who were walking fastest in their indignation came to a halt, for out of the front door of The Hurst streamed the “exciting people” and their hosts. There was Lucia, hatless and shingled and short-skirted, and the Bird-of-Paradise and Mrs. Garroby-Ashton, and Pepino and Lord Limpsfield and Mr. Merriall all talking shrilly together, with shrieks of hollow laughter. They came slowly across the Green toward the little pond round which Riseholme stood, and passed within fifty yards of it, and if Lucia had been the Gorgon, Riseholme could not more effectually have been turned into stone. She too, appeared not to notice them, so absorbed was she in conversation, and on they went straight toward the Museum. Just as they passed Colonel Boucher’s house, Mrs. Boucher came out in her bath-chair, and without pause was wheeled straight through the middle of them. She then drew up by the side of the Green below the large elm. The party passed into the Museum. The windows were open, and from inside there came shrieks of laughter. This continued for about ten minutes, and then ... they all came out again. Several of them carried catalogues, and Mr. Merriall was reading out of one in a loud voice. “Pair of worsted mittens,” he announced, “belonging to Queen Charlotte and presented by the Lady Ambermere.” “Don’t,” said Lucia. “Don’t make fun of our dear little Museum, Stephen.” As they retraced their way along the edge of the Green, movement came back to Riseholme again. Lucia’s policy with regard to the Museum had declared itself. Georgie strolled up to Mrs. Boucher’s bath-chair. Mrs. Boucher was extremely red in the face, and her hands were trembling. “Good evening, Mr. Georgie,” she said. “Another party of strangers, I see, visiting the Museum. They looked very odd people, and I hope we sha’n’t find anything missing. Any news?” That was a very dignified way of taking it, and Georgie responded in the same spirit. “Not a scrap that I know of,” he said, “except that Olga’s coming down to-morrow.” “That will be nice,” said Mrs. Boucher. “Riseholme is always glad to see _her_.” Daisy joined them. “Good evening, Mrs. Quantock,” said Mrs. Boucher. “Any news?” “Yes, indeed,” said Daisy rather breathlessly. “Didn’t you see them? Lucia and her party?” “No,” said Mrs. Boucher firmly. “She is in London surely. Anything else?” Daisy took the cue. Complete ignorance that Lucia was in Riseholme at all was a noble manœuvre. “It must have been my mistake,” she said. “Oh, my mulberry tree has quite come round.” “No!” said Mrs. Boucher in the Riseholme voice. “I am pleased. I daresay the pruning did it good. And Mr. Georgie’s just told me that our dear Olga, or I should say Mrs. Shuttleworth, is coming down to-morrow, but he hasn’t told me what time yet.” “Two or three, she said,” answered Georgie. “She’s motoring down, and is going to have lunch with me whenever she gets here.”