The vicar, as he sat at dinner with his wife, filled the sympathetic role of listener while she gave, with a certain quiet humour of her own, a graphic account of the meagre resources of her wardrobe. His own clothes also, she stated, were somewhat shabby. "We shall look the typical country vicar and vicaress," she said, with a most unclerical dimple coming into play when she smiled. "I hate dowdiness, Walter." "Can't you get something made in the time?" he asked. "No. I wouldn't if I could. For one dinner! Imagine it! Why shouldn't I look a country vicaress? That's what I am." "You always look pretty," he said, "and so do your clothes." "I believe," she observed, with a fair imitation of John Musgrave's tone and manner, "that I compare very favourably with other clergymen's wives." He laughed. "John considers you smart." "Oh, John?" She waved a small hand, as though she waved aside John's opinion as of no account. "Was that man ever young, Walter?" she asked. "Somehow, I can never picture him as a boy." "No," he said. "I can't, either. When I knew him first he was an elderly young man with a predilection for botany. But I believe at heart he is one of the kindest and best of fellows, incapable of a mean action or thought. I admire John." She looked across at him, smiling. "He suggests veal to me," she said--"which possesses no nature, according to the butcher. When John matures I shall perhaps appreciate him better. He is new wine in an old bottle--the outside crusted, and the inside thin and bloodless." "New wine is apt to break old bottles," he reminded her. "I know," she said. "I am waiting for John to break through his crust." CHAPTER FOUR. The kitchen of John Musgrave's establishment presented on Tuesday evening a scene of unusual activity. Martha, whose love for "Miss" Belle was even deeper than her affection for her master, was bent on doing her best for the honour of the house. It was an important occasion. To Martha, as to all the old residents of Moresby, the Hall stood as the symbol of greatness, rather as Buckingham Palace might stand in the regard of the nation. Indeed, in local opinion it is possible that the Hall ranked above Buckingham Palace in importance, as tangible greatness surpasses legendary splendour. Moresby was accustomed to look with awe upon the Hall, which, since the reign of the old squire, had remained for the greater part of the time unoccupied, the present squire for private reasons preferring to live elsewhere.