She looked round her without the faintest show of interest or admiration as she loitered with her husband on the terrace, while innumerable travelling-bags, shawls, books, newspapers, and packages were being carried from the barouche to the house.

‘How dry and burnt-up everything looks!’ she said.

’Have you no better greeting than that for Thornleigh, my dear Augusta?’ Mr. Darrell asked in rather a wounded tone.  ’I thought you would be pleased to see the old place again.’

‘Thornleigh Manor is not a passion of mine,’ she answered.  ’I hope you will take a house in town at the beginning of next year.’

She passed on into the hall, after having honoured me with the coldest possible shake-hands.  We saw no more of her until nearly dinner-time, when she came down to the drawing-room, dressed in white, and looking deliciously pale and cool in the sultry weather.  Milly had spent the afternoon in going round the gardens and home-farm with her father, and had thoroughly enjoyed the delight of a couple of hours alone with him.  She gave him up now to Mrs. Darrell, who devoted all her attention to him for the rest of the evening; while Julian Stormont, Milly, and I loitered about the garden, and played a desultory game of croquet.

It was not until the next morning that Mr. Egerton’s name was mentioned, although it had been in my thoughts, and I cannot doubt in Milly’s, ever since Mr. Darrell’s arrival.  We were in the drawing-room after breakfast, not quite decided what to do with the day, when Mr. Darrell came into the room dressed for a ride with his wife.  He went over to the window by which Milly was standing.

‘You have quite given up riding, Ellis tells me, my dear,’ he said.

’I have not cared to ride while you were away, papa, as Mary does not ride.’

’Miss Crofton might have learnt to ride; there would always be a horse at her disposal.’

‘We like walking better,’ Milly said, blushing a little, and fidgeting nervously with one of the buttons on her father’s coat.  ’I used to feel in the way, you know, when I rode with you and Mrs. Darrell.’

‘That was your own fault, Milly,’ he answered, with a displeased look.

’I suppose it was.  But I think Augusta felt it too.  O, by the bye, papa, I did not tell you quite all the news when we were out together yesterday.’

‘Indeed!’

‘No; I forgot to mention that Mr. Egerton has come back.’

‘Angus Egerton?’

‘Yes; he came back last winter.’

‘You never said so in your letters.’

’Didn’t I?  I suppose that was because I knew you were rather prejudiced against him; and one can’t explain away that kind of thing in a letter.’

’You would find it very difficult to explain away my dislike of Angus Egerton, either in or out of a letter.  Have you seen much of him?’

’A good deal.  He has been at the Rectory very often when Mary and I have been invited there.  The Collingwoods are very fond of him.  I am sure—­I think—­you will like him, papa, when you come to see a little of him.  He is going to call upon you.’