A plain, pleasant-looking woman sat sewing out-of-doors, in front of a
small verandaed cottage, perched high on a hillside which commanded a wide
view of central England. The chalk down fell beneath her into a sheath of
beech woods; the line of hills, slope behind slope, ran westward to the
sunset, while eastward they mounted to a wooded crest beyond which the
cottage could not look. Northward, beginning some six hundred feet below
the cottage, stretched a wide and varied country, dotted with villages and
farms, with houses and woods, till it lost itself in the haze of a dim
horizon.
A man of middle age, gray-headed, spare in figure, emerged from one of the
French windows of the cottage.
"Marion, when did you say that you expected Enid?"
"Between three and four, papa."
"I don't believe Glenwilliam himself will get here at all. There will be a
long Cabinet this afternoon, and another to-morrow probably--Sunday or no
Sunday!"
"Well then, he won't come, father," said the daughter, placidly, thrusting
her hand into a sock riddled with holes, and looking at it with concern.
"Annoying! I wanted him to meet Coryston--who said he would be here to
tea.
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