"Perhaps," said Mrs. Poynsett, disregarding this mischievous suggestion, "they mean that organization, like charity, should begin at home." "You say that meaningly," said Rosamond. "I have heard very odd stories of domestic affairs at Aucuba Villa, and that she can't get a servant to stay there." "That man, Alexander, has always been there," said Frank. "Yes; but he has occasionally to do all the work of the house. Yes, I can't help it, Cecil, Susan will regale me with cook-stories sometimes; and I have heard of the whole establishment turning out on being required to eat funguses." "I shall beware of dining there!" said Rosamond. "Don't they dine here to-morrow?" asked Frank. "No, they are engaged to the Moys," said Cecil. "But the Vivians come?" "Oh yes." Every one knew that already; but Frank could not help having it repeated. It was a mere formal necessity to ask them, and had been accepted as such; but there was some amazement when Cecil brought home Lady Tyrrell and Miss Vivian to lunch and spend the afternoon. It might be intended as one of her demonstrations; for though it was understood that any of the inmates were free to bring home friends to luncheon, it was not done--except with a casual gentleman-- without notice to the mistress of the house. Cecil, however, comported herself entirely as in that position, explaining that Lady Tyrrell was come to give her advice upon an intended fernery, and would perform her toilette here, so as to have plenty of time. Frank, little knowing what was passing, was working the whole day at his tutor's for the closely imminent examination; Julius and Raymond were gravely polite; Eleonora very silent; and as soon as the meal was over, Rosamond declared that she should not come out to stand planning in the cold; and though Herbert would have liked nothing better in that company, his Rector carried him off to arrange an Advent service in a distant hamlet; Anne's horse came to the door; and only Joanna remained to accompany the gardening party, except that Raymond came out with them to mark the limits of permissible alteration. "How unchanged!" exclaimed Lady Tyrrell. "Time stands still here; only where is the grand old magnolia? How sweet it used to be!" "Killed by the frost," said Raymond, shortly, not choosing to undergo a course of reminiscences, and chafing his wife by his repressive manner towards her guest. When he had pointed out the bed of Americans that were to be her boundary, he excused himself as having letters to finish; and as he went away Cecil gave vent to her distaste to the old shrubs and borders, now, of course, at their worst--the azaleas mere dead branches, the roses with a few yellow night-capped buds still lingering, and fuchsias with a scanty bell or two.