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CHAPTER V

It was a misty but warm October day, and a pleasant veiled light lay
on the pillared front of Chetworth House, designed in the best taste
of a fastidious school. The surroundings of the house, too, were as
perfect as those of Mannering were slatternly and neglected. All the
young men had long since gone from the gardens, but the old
labourers and the girls in overalls who had taken their places,
under the eye of a white-haired gardener, had been wonderfully
efficient so far. Sir Henry supposed he ought to have let the lawns
stand for hay, and the hedges go unclipped; but as a matter of fact
the lawns had never been smoother, or the creepers and yew hedges
more beautifully in order, so that even the greatest patriot fails
somewhere.
Beryl Chicksands was walking along a stone-flagged path under a yew
hedge, from which she commanded the drive and a bit of the road
outside. Every now and then she stopped to peer into the sunlit haze
that marked the lower slopes of the park, and the delicate hand that
shaded her eyes shook a little.


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