In the meantime she had accepted an invitation to spend the month of August with the Wiltons at Woodruffe, their place near Brighton. Enid had left the Academy some time ago to blossom forth as a professor of music at Hove; but although Celia had not seen her for nearly eighteen months, she still kept in touch with her by means of a regular correspondence. The Rev. Ralph Wilton had resigned his curacy at Hoxton--after having seen his parochial affairs greatly improved as the result of Celia’s munificence--to be promoted to a living in a quiet midland town; but he too would be at Woodruffe for his holiday in August, and Celia looked forward to meeting him there. She would have to return to town in the autumn to attend the rehearsals of “The Voice of the Charmer,” which was to be produced at the beginning of November. Guy Haviland had found it no easy matter to coax Karne into giving his consent, for Herbert possessed some decided views anent the stage; but in the end he managed to overrule all his numerous objections, and returned to London in triumph and great glee. Lady Marjorie received the news with dubious satisfaction. She was not enamoured of the theatrical life. “Don’t let it spoil our girlie, will you, Haviland?” she said, when he had acquainted her with the details of his plans. “She is so sweet and unaffected as she is; it would be such a pity if she became imbued with the artificiality of the stage.” Haviland assured her that she need have no fear. “I am just as anxious for the welfare of your girlie, as you call her, as yourself,” he replied. “I will guard her as rigorously as any old _duenna_.” And knowing that he would be as good as his word, Lady Marjorie was content. CHAPTER V THE WILTONS OF WOODRUFFE Woodruffe was an old-fashioned country house, standing in a little valley of its own formation, and thus protected from the high winds which came from the sea. It affected the Gothic style of architecture, with long windows which opened outwards, and a porch like that of a church. From the front an extensive view of cliffs and ocean was obtained, while from the back one could gaze on miles of verdant meadowland. When Celia pulled up her blind the first morning after her arrival, it seemed as though she were miles away from civilization. There was not a vestige of anything human to be seen, yet she knew that less than an hour’s walk would take her into busy Brighton. With a sigh of enjoyment she threw open the window, and inhaled the fresh morning air: the fragrance of flowers, the faint scent of hay, the strong salt breeze: how different from the stifling heat of crowded London. She had been thoroughly satiated with society during the waning days of the “season,” tired of being dressed up like a doll to attend Lady Somebody’s “crush:” of talking inanities to society worldlings, and of being patronized by great ladies on account of her voice.