Every visit to the cottage seems prefaced with a scramble. Either the work at the office suddenly does itself up in a tangle, or the domestic arrangements show signs of incipient paralysis, which it takes all my available energy to avert, or else it is people who inflict themselves upon me when I’m at my final gasp without a moment, or a single company smile, to spare for anybody. And of all the three forms of irritation, the uninvited people are the worst; for they always seem to absorb the last bit of vitality left me, which I had hoped would just carry me over the journey.

There is Miss Quirker, for instance. You don’t know Miss Quirker? How I envy you!

I can best describe her as a lady well over forty (or more), who apparently hasn’t anything at all to do, and who does it thoroughly well. She has a couple of very decided and conspicuous gifts—one is the ability to waste the time and dissipate the amiable qualities of every individual whose path she crosses; and the other is a positive genius for saying the wrong thing.

I was near the window writing for all I was worth, when she knocked at the door and inquired for me, adding, “I see she is busy writing, but if you tell her who it is, I know she’ll see me.” Of course I had to see her.

She entered the room with a kittenish little rush and scuffle, that is by no means the happiest form of affectation for a tall, largely-built woman, well over forty (or more).

“Ah! I’ve found you in at last” (with a roguish wag of a stiff finger in a size too small glove). “I was determined to see you, dear, though Abigail always looks so forbidding at the door. I met Miss Virginia shopping just now, and I asked if you were at home. She said you were frightfully busy, nearly off your head with work, as you were leaving town the first thing in the morning. So I said at once: Then of course I must go round and call on her this very afternoon.

“She said she wasn’t sure that you’d be in if I did, but I said I should chance it—it’s such an age since we’ve met—why, not since your engagement was announced! Now, just give me an account of yourself, and tell me all about everything.

“I would have asked Miss Virginia, but I never think she is at all cordial, or perhaps I should say—sympathetic. Indeed, I don’t think she really knew me at first. I was right in her path, yet she seemed to look through me! But I took a seat next to her at the lace counter, and spoke to her. By the way, is she deaf? It was so strange that she didn’t seem to hear a quarter of the questions I asked her about you, so I really got next to no information from her. It was so funny sometimes that I almost laughed—I’ve such a sense of humour, you know. For instance, when I asked her what she thought of your fiancÉ (you know you’ve never introduced me to him yet!) and was it her idea of a suitable match, and was he tall or short, she replied: ‘I think it wonderful value considering, and it should wear well; the size is five yards round, so I had better have six yards to allow for corners.’ And, do you know, I was some minutes before I realised that she wasn’t talking about his waist measure, but an afternoon tea-cloth for which she was buying the lace. She evidently hadn’t heard a word I had said. And so I raised my voice and asked her what part he had come from, as I knew he didn’t go to our church. She just looked at me and replied: ‘Cluny; I always think Cluny lace washes so well, don’t you?’

“You see, I got absolutely nothing out of her. In fact, I wondered, dear, whether—of course, I know you don’t mind me speaking quite frankly—whether there had been any little rift—er—you understand; of course I know you’ve a wonderful fund of patience, only those two girls always seem to be with you, and though I’m sure you wouldn’t tell them so, yet anyone with the very slightest tact might see that they aren’t wanted. And of course....

“Oh, well, I’m glad to hear you do think as much of them as ever. I shouldn’t have thought it; but you needn’t mind telling me if there had been a little coolness. I’m fairly sharp at seeing through a stone wall. And I always have said that—personally, mind you—I never knew two girls less....

“Of course, we won’t discuss them if you’d rather not. As you know, I am the very last one to want to introduce a disagreeable topic. We’ll talk about you. Turn round to the light, and let me see how you are looking. My dear! but you do look ill!! I don’t know when I’ve seen you look so utterly washed out and anÆmic....

“You never felt better in your life? Well, I’m glad to hear it, I’m sure. Oh, I see what it is, it’s that blue dress you are wearing that gives you that aged and sallow look—a very trying colour, isn’t it? I don’t think anyone ought to wear that colour, but those with very clear young-looking complexions, and then it looks charming. It always suited me. By the way, did Madame Delphine make that dress?... I thought so, I knew it the minute I saw you. It’s a queer thing, but I have never yet seen anyone look even passable in a dress that she has made. You can’t exactly say that it doesn’t fit, can you? It’s a something—I don’t know how to express it—about her gowns that always strikes me as—well, you know what I mean, don’t you? And that dress you’ve got on looks just like that! I know you won’t mind me speaking quite plainly; you see, I’ve known you for so long, and I’m not one to flatter, I never was. What we need in this world is absolute sincerity; don’t you agree with me? And I always think it’s the kindest thing when you see a friend in anything that makes her look plainer than ever, to tell her so at once, then she knows just exactly what she looks like. And, after all, other people are the best judges as to what suits us. We can’t see ourselves. Mrs. Ridley was saying at the Guild ‘At Home’ at the Archdeacon’s the other day, she thought you were so wise to stick to that way you do your hair; she said she thought it suited you, considering that....”

Here I did manage to interpolate a sarcastic regret that they couldn’t find a more interesting topic of conversation!

“Oh, yes, we had other more interesting things to talk about, dear, but Mrs. Archdeacon had your photo on the table, and the Archdeacon said something about you, I forget what—nothing of any importance—and that was the only reason we mentioned you. I said I thought perhaps you did it that way because it was a little thin just there.... Oh, I know you used to have a lot of hair, dear; but some people’s hair does come out, and a pad doesn’t look so well anywhere else....

“It’s all your own hair? You don’t wear—— Well, I am surprised! I should never have thought it!! I don’t mean that it looks much in any case, but I always concluded that you wore——

“Oh, how delightful! I’ll confess I was longing for a cup of tea.... Yes, three lumps and plenty of milk. I always say it makes up for any deficiencies in the tea, if one has lots of milk.... China tea, is it? I thought so. I dare say it’s all right for those who like it. And, of course, if you tell people what it is, they understand why it looks so poor....

“On no account; don’t think of having some Indian tea made specially for me. I can quite well make this do, because I’m going straight home after I leave you, and tea will be waiting for me, and I shall have a good cup first thing....

“Yes, I think I will have another sandwich, even though it is the third time of asking. These make me think of the Guild ‘At Home’ last week. You ought to have been there. The Archdeacon makes such a delightful host and the sandwiches!—well, I can’t tell you what they were like; literally hundreds and hundreds of them, and such delicious filling; all cut in their own kitchen, too. You really should get Mrs. Archdeacon to tell you what her cook put in them; you’d never touch one of these ordinary ones again, once you had tasted hers.

“But what I would like to know is, what does she do with all the crusts? Mrs. Ridley thought that perhaps they made them up into savoury puddings; only, as I said to her: How about those with fish in them? She said that perhaps they kept them separate when cutting; but I know the shuffling ways of cooks better than that! I never kept one, and I never will....

“I must certainly try the cake if you made it yourself. I seldom get time to do any cooking myself, though I’m a very good hand at cakes. But you’ve secretaries to take everything off your hands; you must have lots of spare time.”

(A moment’s pause while she tries the cake.)

“Have you ever used the Busy Bee Flour Sifter? No? Then I should strongly advise you to get one. I should think that might help you to make a lighter cake; or do you think you put in enough baking powder? But there, some people have a light hand with cakes, and some haven’t. I don’t think anything makes any difference if you haven’t. It’s just like plants, isn’t it—they always grow well for those who love them. Your ferns aren’t looking very bright, are they?...

“Oh, don’t you like the ends of the fronds rubbed?... I see, they were given you by your fiancÉ, and naturally they are the apple of your eye. That reminds me, you haven’t shown me his portrait yet. I’m longing to see it....

“Is that the gentleman! Well! he’s the very last man in the world I should have chosen for you! Not a bit like what I pictured....

“No, I don’t mean that there’s anything wrong with him, only—er—he doesn’t look a scrap like the man you would become engaged to....

“Well, I don’t know that I can exactly describe the type of man I expected. I thought he would be tall and——

“He is? Over six feet? Well, he doesn’t look it from his photo, does he?...

“That’s true; a vignetted head doesn’t show the full height. But apart from that, I expected an artistic sort of man....

“He is? Really! And then I should have pictured him rather—er—well, Napoleonic, and with that far-away poetic fire in his eyes that carries you off your feet to untold heights....

“No, of course I don’t mean an aviator! I mean a—but it isn’t easy to put it into words; only you can’t think how disap—how surprised I am to see a little man....

“Of course, I remember you did say he was tall and well made. But there, handsome is as handsome does; and, after all, I’ve heard that it is often the plainest and most uninteresting-looking men that turn out the best in the end. I can only hope that it will be so in your——

“Why, I declare! Here’s Miss Virginia! How d’y’do? We’ve been talking about you all the afternoon. Well, I really must be going, and I simply won’t listen to any of your persuasions to stay longer. I’ve brightened her up nicely, Miss Virginia; she was looking ever so gloomy when I called. Good-bye, dear. Good-bye, Miss Virginia.”

Exit Miss Quirker.

What we said after she had gone had better not be recorded! My own remarks may not have been quite cordial; but I know that Virginia’s were even worse—if that were possible.

But though visitations such as these, when bestowed upon me at the eleventh hour, always reduce me mentally to a sort of bran-mash (and Virginia says she can’t see why anybody need bother a government to import pulp nowadays, considering the state of her brain, to say nothing of those of other people who shall be nameless), the sight of the garden makes me human once more, and by sunset the silence of the hills has so restored my soul, that the sun seldom, if ever, goes down upon my wrath.

After tea, there will probably be two hours of daylight for watering the garden. Even though the sun has dropped behind the opposite hills, it is light up here on the hill-top long after the valley has gone to sleep; and when the sun has really set, there is a long and lovely twilight.

Indoors and out there is absolute peace. The grandfather’s clock ticks with that slow deliberation that is so soothing; even the preliminary rumble it gives before striking is never irritating—you feel it is a concession due to advanced age.

Through the open window float in the scents of thousands of flowers that are feeling unspeakably grateful for the liberal watering the girls have been giving them; you cannot distinguish any one in particular; one moment you think it is the sweet briar, then you are sure it is the white lilies, then the breeze brings the breath of the honeysuckles that are climbing trees and hedges, till the whole air is laden with perfume.

Up the garden white dresses are seen among the borders.

“There, I believe we’ve done everything but that upper bed of hollyhocks, and they won’t hurt for to-night.” Virginia sounds as though she had been working hard.

“Now the tent,” calls out Ursula. And we all make a stampede to the bottom of the lower orchard, and with a few dexterous turns the tent is down and folded up; for though the trees may be motionless now, the wind springs up at any moment on these hills, and once you hear it soughing in the tops of the big fir-trees in the garden you will realise the advantage of having the tent indoors!

As you saunter up the garden, back to the house, crushing the sweet-odoured black peppermint in the grass underfoot, the stars seem very near. The cottage looks like a toy, with the light shining from each little window. And as you cross the threshold into the living-room, the log fire flashes and gleams (a fire is acceptable up here after sundown, even in the summer), and everything smiles with such a cosy welcome, till brass candlesticks and cups and jugs and the homely willow patterns on the dresser, all seem to say, “We are so glad you’ve come.”