"Lady Brent said very kindly, ’I expect you would like to go over the house by yourself, Mr. Grant. Harry shall go with you and show you the cottage where the key is kept. The church, I believe, is open. We shall expect you back to tea at half-past four, and if you have not finished you can go back again afterwards.’ "This was just what I wanted—to moon about the house which is to be our happy home, dearest, alone, and to build castles in the air about it. So we started off, the boy and I. We went down the avenue——" "H’m. H’m." Mrs. Grant skipped a page. "It was the Vicarage of our dreams, a low stone house, facing south, embowered in massy trees, its walls covered with creepers, the sun glinting on its small-paned windows." Mrs. Grant skipped a little more. She wanted to know the number of rooms, and if possible the size of the principal ones, what the kitchen and the back premises were like, whether the kitchen garden was large enough to supply the house, and if it could all be managed by one man, who would also look after the pony, and perhaps clean the boots and knives. She gained a hint or two as she turned over the pages quickly, and then read them more carefully. "Well, he doesn’t tell me much," she said, "but I expect it will be all right and I’m sure I shall love it. The drawing-room opening into the garden and the best bedroom with a view of the sea in the distance sound jolly, and I’m glad the old darling will have a nice room to write his nonsense in. If he is pleased with his surroundings he always does more work, and that means more money. Oh, I do hope his sales will go up and we shall have enough to live comfortably on there." She went on to the end of the letter, which gave her pleasure, as had been intended. "Dear old thing, he does lean on me," she said. "And well he may. Well, I shall bustle about and make things happy and comfortable for him directly I’m strong enough. Oh, my little love, why didn’t you put off your arrival for a few months longer? But I shall adore you when you do come, and it will be lovely to bring you up in that beautiful place. Now let’s see what these Brent people are like, if he’s clever enough to give me any idea of them." She turned back to the beginning of the letter, and read it through in the same way as she read his novels. She knew by intuition when it was worth while to read every word, and—well, when it wasn’t. "Young Sir Harry met me at the station. He is a handsome boy, very bright and friendly. My heart warmed to him, and especially when he showed a lively interest in our Jane and Pobbles. I told him that Jane was only eleven and Pobbles nine, but he said that he wasn’t so very much older himself, and laughed as he said it, like a young wood-god, with all the youth of the world in him. I remember once walking in an olive wood in Italy, and suddenly meeting...