The Bishop of Blumfield and his wife had come to Seabourne for the funeral, and had stayed on for nearly three weeks at the new hotel. The bishop was incredibly old; his skin had taken on a yellowish polish like an antique ivory netsuké. Aunt Ann had disapproved of his taking so long a journey, but he had insisted on coming; he was often inclined to be wilful these days. Aunt Ann herself bore her years aggressively. A tall, majestic old lady, with fierce eyes, she faced the world, her backbone very straight. Her sister's death, while it had come as a shock, had done little to soften the attitude of disdain with which she now regarded her fellow beings. Mary Ogden had always been rather despicable in her eyes, and why think her less so merely because she was dead? But a sense of duty had kept her at Seabourne for the past three weeks. After all, Joan was a Routledge, or half of her was, and her future must be provided for in some way. Joan looked at her wrist watch, it was nearly half-past eight. Aunt Ann had announced that she would dine at seven and come in afterwards for a long talk. Joan guessed what this talk would be about; namely, her own plans. What were her plans? She asked herself this for the hundredth time since her mother's death. She must inevitably work for her living, but what kind of work? That was the difficulty. All this thinking was a terrible effort--if only she had had enough money to keep Leaside, she felt that she would never have left it. She would gladly have lived on there alone, just she and Bobbie; yes, she was actually regretting Leaside. After all, Seabourne was comfortably familiar, and in consequence easy. She shrank with nervous apprehension from any change. New places, new people, a new manner of life, noise, hurry, confusion; she pressed her hand to her head and took up the _Morning Post_ as she had already done many times that day. The situations vacant were few indeed, compared with those wanted. And how much seemed to be expected of everyone nowadays! Governesses, for instance, must have a degree, and nearly all must play the piano and teach modern languages. Private secretaries, typists, book-keepers, farmers, chauffeurs; their accomplishments seemed endless. "Typist. Used to all the well-known makes of typewriter; good speed, fair knowledge of foreign languages, shorthand." "Book-keeper seeks situation in hotel or business house; long experience." "University woman, as secretary-companion; speaks French, German, Italian, used to travelling, can drive car." "Young woman requires situation in country. Experience with remounts during war, assist small farm or dairy, entire charge of kennels, sporting or other breeds, or work under stud groom in hunting stables." "Lady chauffeur-mechanic, disengaged now, excellent personal references, clean licence. Three years' war service driving motor ambulance France and Belgium; undertake all running repairs, any make car."