One caller, especially full of regret at not being able to see the Squire, was Lady Maria Skeffington. Maria Kettle was her goddaughter, and had been named after her. She was a withered-up maiden of sixty-five. Lady Maria gazed round the entrance-hall with a sigh, and recalled the time when she had felt so sure that she should one day be mistress of Heron Dyke. Some forty years previously Mr. Denison had danced with her several times at the county balls, and had paid her other little attentions when they met; and she, following the fashion of young maidens, had taken it for granted that he meant to ask her to be his wife. But the longed-for declaration never came, and hope gradually died out of her heart. Still, as Lady Maria often told herself, she had never been so near matrimony before or after, and she yet cherished a half-tender recollection of the handsome young Squire. They had remained good friends: and to-day, a white-haired old woman, Lady Maria felt an intense longing in her heart to see him once again before he should go hence. When told that it might not be, she dropped her veil and went back to her carriage, crying softly to herself. About five o'clock a message reached the Hall from Mr. Toomes, the leader of the Nullington string band. Mr. Toomes wished to know whether the band might be permitted to pay their respects to the Squire on his birthday, by playing a few select pieces at the Hall during the evening. Old Aaron took the message into the Squire's room with an ill grace; he would have liked to refuse had he dared; and he came back in a few minutes with the Squire's gracious answer--he would be very much pleased to receive the band at half-past eight. The band came at the appointed hour: two violins, a violoncello, a harp, and a couple of clarinets, the musicians being all small tradesmen of the town. They were met at the postern which opened into the private garden by Hubert Stone, who now wore a fashionable overcoat, and was smoking a cigar. Hubert marshalled the players on to the sward directly opposite to, but a few yards away from, the windows of Mr. Denison's sitting-room. The Squire was but weak, he said, and it was desirable not to have the sounds too near. John Tilney, the gardener, and his wife crept in behind the musicians, and stood a little in the background. Had Mr. Hubert Stone noticed the movement, he might have ordered them away, for he had a great notion of keeping servants in their places.