"Don't make me more envious than I am!" she said gently. "Lady Diana has everything." With a sympathetic gesture, Lady Diana extended her hand, and touched hers lightly. "My dear," she said, "you have no reason to repine. And Tuffnell is to bring you enjoyment, not regret. What amusement can we plan for the morning, George?" George Tuffnell looked up from the omelette to which he was helping himself. "What would Mrs. Milbanke like? You may do anything you like here, Mrs. Milbanke--except be unhappy." Clodagh smiled brightly. "Anything?" "Anything--in wisdom." She hesitated for a moment, looking down at her plate; then, with a quick, winning movement, she lifted her head, glancing from one of her entertainers to the other. "Then give me a horse," she said quickly, "and let me ride by myself till lunch time." Lady Diana looked distressed. "What, alone?" she asked. But her husband laughed cheerily. "Why not--if she wishes? Tuffnell is Liberty Hall, Mrs. Milbanke. You shall have the best horse in the stables." Lady Diana smiled indulgently. "I hope we are doing right! Four hours by oneself in the saddle is rather a lonely thing." "Oh, but I won't be alone!" Clodagh cried. "A good horse is the best company in the world." At the conclusion of breakfast, she rose to go upstairs and change into her habit. As she passed her hostess, she paused. "Shall I run in and see Lady Frances?" she asked. Lady Diana looked up at her. "I think not. Frances called through the door this morning that no one was to go near her before twelve o'clock. I'd wait till then, if I were you." And Clodagh nodded comprehendingly and left the room. Half an hour later, she rode down a long avenue of chestnuts, mounted on a splendid bay horse of Lady Diana's, and emerged upon the road that skirted the park wall. Tuffnell Place was situated in one of the richest corners of Buckinghamshire; and as she drew rein for a moment outside the large gates and surveyed the surrounding country, it seemed to her that, as far as the eye could reach, the land stretched away in one great tract of prosperous, well-tilled fields and sweeping meadow-land, broken by high hedges and low wooded hills. The day was one to revel in; the scene one to bring complete repose. And as she gathered up her reins and allowed the bay horse to sweep down the gently sloping road into this land of plenty, she permitted the atmosphere to take full possession of her. For the moment, the thought of London, of her fellow-beings, even of herself, fell away from her conscious consideration; and she dreamed--as an Irishwoman can always dream--with her eyes open and her senses alert to her horse's slightest movement; yet wrapped in a world of her own, created from the warm blue haze of summer that lay over the rich country--from the summer sun that warmed her blood--from the close, instinctive comprehension of nature, that no artificiality has power to eradicate.