“So I’ve written to my old pal, Lady Anne Brennan,” pursued Peterson, “asking if you may stay with her for a little. You would have a delightful time. She was quite the most charming woman I knew in England.” “That must be rather more than twenty years ago,” observed Jean drily. “She may have altered a good deal.” Peterson frowned. He hated to have objections raised to any plan that particularly appealed to him. “Rubbish! Why should she change? Anne was not the sort of woman to change.” Jean was perfectly aware that her father hadn’t the least wish to “discuss” his proposals with her, as he had said. What he really wanted was to tell her about them and for her to approve and endorse them with enthusiasm--which is more or less what a man usually wants when he suggests discussing plans with his womankind. So, recognising that he had all his arrangements cut and dried, Jean philosophically accepted the fact and prepared to fall in with them. “And has Lady Anne signified her readiness to take me in for an indefinite period?” she enquired. “I haven’t had her answer yet. But I have no doubt at all what form it will take. It will be a splendid opportunity for you, altogether. You know, Jean”--pictorially--“you ought really to see the ‘stately homes of England.’ Why, they’re--they’re your birthright!” Jean reflected humorously that this point of view had only occurred to him now that it chanced to coincide so admirably with his own wishes. Hitherto the “stately homes of England” had been relegated to a quite unimportant position in the background and Jean’s attention focussed more directly upon the unpleasing vagaries of the British climate. “I should like to go to England,” was all she said. Peterson smiled at her radiantly--the smile of a child who has got its own way with much less difficulty than it had anticipated. “You shall go,” he promised her. “You’ll adore Staple. It’s quite a typical old English manor--lawns and terraces all complete, even down to the last detail of a yew hedge.” “Staple? Is that the Brennans’ place?” “God bless my soul, no! The Tormarins acquired it when they came pushing over to England with the Conqueror, I imagine. Anne married twice, you know. Her first husband, Tormarin, led her a dog’s life, and after his death she married Claude Brennan--son of a junior branch of the Brennans. Now she is a widow for the second time.” “And are there any children?” “Two sons. The elder is the son of the first marriage and is the owner of Staple, of course. The younger one is the child of the second marriage. I believe that since Brennan’s death they all three live very comfortably together at Staple--at least, they did ten years ago when I last heard from Anne. That was not long after Brennan died.” Jean wrinkled her brows. “Rather a confusing household to be suddenly pitchforked into,” she commented. “But not dull!” submitted Peterson triumphantly. “And dullness is, after all, the biggest bugbear of existence.”