“When I passed through town yesterday, I lunched at the Rag, and heard some fellows talking. They said Blagdon had been frightfully hard hit over the Leger, and indeed lately all round. When the numbers went up he dropped his glasses, turned purple, and collapsed. The doctors and the girl got him home. I’m afraid it will be a tremendous change for _her_.” “Yes, poor child, it must have been a dreadful shock; but she will be rich--Cara is well provided for.” “I am not so sure; you know the property is entailed. Old Laban Blagdon never dreamt that the place he was so proud of, would pass to a New Zealand squatter.” “He will sell it, of course.” “Impossible; it’s strictly tied up; miserable man, it will be his white elephant. Frances says the house is tumbling to pieces, and that rabbits swarm in the grounds.” Later that same afternoon, the Blagdon affairs were discussed in the Rectory drawing-room by Mrs. Denton, her nephew, and Mrs. Hesketh,--whilst the Rector took his friend Letty into the garden in order to advise her respecting some important improvements. “I had a long letter this morning from Doodie,” announced her cousin. “You know she is always so _deeply_ interested in legacies, and wills. She tells me that Hugo Blagdon’s debts to money-lenders are enormous; and the Hill Street house is mortgaged to the roof, and must be sold as it stands--and if there is three or four hundred a year for Cara, she may think herself lucky. She and her aunt are to live together in the flat.” “I wonder how that arrangement will work out?” said Colonel Lumley, “and how Cara and her aunt will agree?” “They will fight like the Kilkenny cats,” rejoined Mrs. Hesketh with prompt decision. “Let us hope they will come to the same historical end.” “My dear friend,” protested Mrs. Denton, “I know you don’t mean that! As for Cara, of course she is headstrong, but she is young, and perhaps----” At this moment the door opened to admit a maid carrying the tea-tray. As she was immediately followed by Cara’s mother, and the Rector, Mrs. Denton’s sentence remained for ever incomplete. * * * * * There was a quiet wedding at Thornby when, for the second time, ‘Lettice Kathleen’ was married by Mr. Denton. On this occasion, it was quite a humble affair; there were no arches, no rice-throwing, no champing grey horses, or gaping crowds; the newly wedded couple, motored away from the church, and spent the honeymoon in Devonshire.