“My dear, I venture to say that it is a generally admitted fact,” her husband replied. “Generally admitted facts are as often as not rubbish,” retorted the lady with some asperity. “What I say is, let a man do his duty wherever he is, and make the best of what he’s got, without grumbling.” There was an unmistakable innuendo in this speech, and for a moment an awkward silence ensued. “I hear you have built a new conservatory, Mr. Henderson?” said Miss Devereux, as if to change the subject. “It is just completed,” said Godfrey. “Would you care to see it?” A general desire to inspect this new wonder having been expressed, Godfrey led the way from the room, contriving, when all had passed out, to take up his position beside their youngest visitor. “Will you take pity upon a stranger in the land?” he said, “and give me some information?” “What can I tell you?” she asked. He glanced at the vicar and his wife, who were some little distance in front. “Do they always squabble like this?” he inquired. “Yes, invariably,” she replied. “We are used to it, but strangers are apt to find it embarrassing. I really believe the habit of squabbling has grown upon them until they have become so accustomed to it that they do not notice it. By the way, Mr. Henderson, there is one question of vital importance I must decide with you. Are you going to hunt?” As a matter of fact Godfrey had made up his mind to do so occasionally, but now, remembering that Miss Devereux possessed the reputation of a second Diana, he spoke as if it were the hunting that had mainly induced him to live in Midlandshire. He registered a vow that he would purchase a stud immediately, and that he would look upon missing a run as a sin that could only be expurgated by religiously attending the next. By this time they had reached the new conservatory, which adjoined the studio Godfrey had built for himself. It was a handsome building, and gave a distinction to that side of the house which it certainly had lacked before. “Admirable, admirable,” said the vicar, complacently. “It reminds me of the palm-house at Kew.” “It is twenty years since you were at Kew, William; how can you possibly remember what the palm-house is like?” retorted his wife. “My dear, I have always been noted for the excellence of my memory,” the vicar replied. “I assure you I have the most vivid recollection of the house in question.” “You mislaid your spectacles this morning, and if I hadn’t seen you put them in your pocket you would never have thought of looking for them there,” said his wife, to whom this fact appeared to be relative to the matter at issue. From the conservatory to the studio was a natural transition, and the latest work upon the easel was duly inspected and admired. “I remember your picture in the Academy last year, Mr. Henderson,” said Miss Devereux. “I can assure you that it brought the tears into my eyes.”