Such was the family party that sat round the breakfast table at Hayslope Hall on that summer morning. Colonel Eldridge was the only member of it upon whom a weight seemed to lie, and his disturbance of mind was guessed at by nobody but his wife, who threw occasional exploratory and sympathetic glances at him, but made no particular effort to lighten his mood, unless by being more than usually responsive to the chatter of the girls. Whatever it was that was troubling him, she would hear of it after breakfast, when she always went to his room with him before setting herself to the occupations that would keep them apart for the rest of the morning.

She was a trifle apprehensive as to whether she herself might not have given him cause for displeasure. He had refused to dine at Pershore Castle two nights before, but she and Pamela had gone, and he had not objected to that. What he might possibly object to, however, was the invitation she had given to young Lord Horsham to lunch at Hayslope that very day. She had not told him yet that she had done so, for her reason for asking the young man had been quite clearly defined in her own mind, and she did not want him to guess at it. Perhaps Pamela had told him that Horsham was coming, he had guessed why, and was displeased about it.

But no! She knew before breakfast was over that that was not the cause of his mood.

Pamela said: "Jim is coming to lunch and I suppose he will want to play tennis afterwards. We'd better mow the lawn, Judy, and mark out the court again."

Colonel Eldridge frowned, and Mrs. Eldridge's spirit drooped, but rose again when he said: "It isn't your business to mow lawns. That's one of the things that Perkins ought to see to."

Poor dear man, he hated the idea of his daughters doing work that had always been done as a matter of course by servants. He was sore about all the things that they ought to have had and he could no longer give them, even when they were things that made no difference to them whatever.

"Oh, we like doing it, Daddy," said Pamela. "It makes us feel that we've earned our games on it. Don't deprive us of the rewards of virtue."

He left the subject. "You'd better ask Fred Comfrey to lunch, if Horsham is coming," he said. "You'll want a four, and I shan't be able to play this afternoon."

So it was settled, to Mrs. Eldridge's relief. It was the first time that Horsham had been asked to Hayslope Hall since the disturbance in which he had been concerned, and her husband had made no comment on it. It was not that that was troubling him.

Nevertheless, she made first mention of it when they went into his room together. "I'm glad you don't mind Jim coming here," she said. "I forgot to tell you that I'd asked him."

"Mind him! Oh, no, I don't mind him. It wasn't he who behaved in any way that I could be annoyed over. And as for the Crowboroughs, I shan't keep it up against them any longer. I couldn't bring myself to go over there on Monday, but I'm glad you and Pamela went. We must get them over here some time. Cynthia, I'm extremely annoyed at something I've seen this morning."

"Yes, dear? What is it?"

She sat herself down by the window, while he stood by his writing table, or moved between it and the fireplace, while he unburdened himself.

"William talked to me on Sunday about making an addition to his garden—a big addition, taking in a grazing meadow of four acres; Barton's Close, it's called—at the bottom of the wood."

"Yes, dear, I know it, and William and Eleanor told me about it. You don't object, do you?"

"Object! It means cutting up pasture, and he has no right to do that without my permission; no right whatever. It isn't a thing that ought to be done in these days. Besides, his garden is out and away too big as it is. This addition would make it double the size of our garden. It's quite unreasonable. The house isn't his. I let it to him as a country cottage, and never thought of it being turned into a large country house wanting a great deal of money to keep it up. I talked to him about all that on Sunday, and thought he understood. Certainly I didn't consent to cutting up Barton's Close, and he must have known I didn't. But I happened to go down there this morning, and they are already at work—his own gardeners and half a dozen labourers besides. Really, it's too bad. From what Coombe told me, it was all settled last week—design and everything, and the labour arranged for. So it was a mere pretence asking for my permission at all. I didn't give it; yet he goes straight away and puts the work in hand."

"Did you say definitely that you wouldn't consent?" Mrs. Eldridge asked. She was rather taken aback. She knew all about those garden plans, and had even made suggestions of her own about them. William had mentioned once the necessity of asking a landlord's permission to cut up pasture, but it had been taken for granted that there would be no difficulty about that. She was not quite sure that she had not said herself that there would be no difficulty about that. Certainly it had never crossed her mind that there would be.

"I objected," said her husband decisively. "Possibly I didn't say in so many words: 'No, you can't do it.' I shouldn't say that to William. I pointed out to him plainly why it was inadvisable, and he seemed to understand."

"Is it very important, Edmund? There's plenty of pasture about there, isn't there?"

"I don't know that there's more than can be made use of. But that wasn't the chief point. It's the enlarging and enlarging at the Grange that has become objectionable. It has gone beyond all reasonable grounds already. All very well, as long as William is there, and treats it as a toy on which to spend his money. But if anything happens, it will be a white elephant—a big house with no land to it, which nobody else is likely to want, and no longer any good as a second house on the place, which it has always been before. You and the girls couldn't live there if anything happened to me."

"I never thought of that," she said slowly. "I don't want to think of it either. Of course William has become very lavish; but he is so rich now that I suppose it doesn't matter. And it is different, isn't it, dear, now that poor Hugo is dead?"

"Oh, that's what he kept driving in on me. He'll come after me here. I'm not likely to forget it. Still, the place is mine, as long as I'm alive, and I'm not going to hand over the reins to William. He's no right to act in that way, as if I counted for nothing."

"No," she said; "it's unfortunate. What are you going to do? I suppose you didn't tell Coombe to stop the work?"

"No; I shouldn't put an affront upon William before his servants. Seems to me he's no objection to putting an affront upon me. Coombe knew well enough that I hadn't been consulted, and that I ought to have been. I don't like that fellow Coombe. He may be a very good head-gardener, but he doesn't come from these parts, and he doesn't seem to realize how things are. He's respectful enough in manner, but he was giving me to understand all the time that his master was a much bigger man than I was, and he wished I'd clear out and leave him to go on with his work. At one point I really did think of ordering him to knock it off. I could have done it, and I think he'd have been rather surprised if I had."

"I'm glad you didn't. It's tiresome, of course; but we don't want to quarrel with the Williams, do we? You're not going to tell him to stop it, are you?"

"Oh, I suppose I shall have to swallow it. William is such a much bigger man than I am now. He's made a lot of money, and they've knighted him. I dare say they'll give him a peerage, if he makes much more. I can't stand out against him. I'm only an old dug-out of a soldier, and don't matter."

"Well, dear, you're Squire of Hayslope, which counts for something. As for me, I'd rather be Mrs. Eldridge of Hayslope Hall than Lady Eldridge of Hayslope Grange. I don't mean I'd rather be me than Eleanor, though of course I would. But she isn't spoilt by all their money, and I certainly don't want to quarrel with her."

"Oh, quarrel! I don't want to quarrel with William, either. We've been good friends all our lives, and nobody's more pleased with his success than I am. Still, what I feel, and feel strongly, is that he ought not to make his success an excuse for changing his attitude towards me. I'm his elder brother, and he has always treated me so until lately. He'd never have thought of doing a thing like this a few years ago, and he wants telling so. Then I dare say we shall get on as we ought to. This has got to be the last of it. Anything further I shall veto. The Grange is mine as well as the Hall. When I'm dead he can do what he likes with both of them. Until then he must be content with what he has."

"Oh, I think he will be. And he's sure to see your point, if you put it to him without irritation. Of course you are irritated, dear, and it's only natural. I should be myself, though I'm not an irritable person. I flatter myself that I can see below the surface of things, and I'm sure William is really devoted to you, and looks up to you. He wouldn't want to do anything to displease you, and Eleanor would be horrified at the very idea. Eleanor is very level-headed. I have a great admiration for her, and I'm not a woman who gives her admiration to everybody. Just say something to William when they come down again, and I'll say something to Eleanor: and I'm sure everything will be all right for the future."

"They are not coming down this week; and I have something else to write to William about. I shall write about this too, and if he takes what I say in the right spirit I shan't mention it again."

Mrs. Eldridge rose. "Oh, I'm sure he will," she said, "especially if you don't show irritation, dear. It's always a mistake to show irritation. Now I must go and see about things. Lunch at half-past one. That will give us a nice long morning."

She kissed him, as she always did, and went out. He had already lost some of the irritation which she had so deprecated. If he had sat down and written to his brother without further reflection, he would probably have made a mild protest against the gardening scheme and at the most reminded him of certain arguments that he had used to him already. But his pen never got started very easily. He had to think over the best way of putting the business affair upon which he had meant to write, and when that was decided his mind went back to the other question, and his anger rose again at the way in which he had been treated. When he did sit down to his table, it was with a face as dark as he had worn on riding into the stable-yard an hour before, and he embarked upon his protest at once.

"Dear William:—I was much annoyed this morning, and I must say surprised too, to find that you had disregarded my wishes in the matter of Barton's Close, and that there is a small army of men there already, cutting it up. I don't want to go again into the reasons I gave you on Sunday for my objection to turning the greater part of your holding into an extravagant pleasure garden. They seem to me to be eminently sound, and I do not remember your bringing any counter-arguments that would affect them. What you have done is simply to ignore them, and treat me on my own property as if my undoubted rights in a matter of this sort could be set aside with not even so much as a word of warning. I must say now at least, that this sort of treatment must stop. However superior your standing may be in the world outside, here at Hayslope I am on my own ground, and you ought to show respect to my position, as until lately you always have done."

A pause came to the rapid scratching of the pen, and Colonel Eldridge looked up towards the garden outside, so quiet and green and happy, with the whirr of the mowing-machine already to be heard where the girls were busy with the lawn, and their young voices coming to him between their bursts of energy. His face had cleared. He had written a straightforward protest, without any beating about the bush. There was no need to say more, though more might very well have been said. In days gone by William had treated him with the respect due from a younger brother to the head of the family. There had been affection between them from their early childhood, but the elder brother had been the leading spirit, as was only right, and when it had been necessary to rebuke the younger he had done it in much the same way as this. William had accepted the rebuke and they had remained as good friends as before. This would be all that would be wanted. William could have his garden, which, after all, didn't so much matter with things as they were now—poor Hugo dead and he the one to come after—although—although—

The frown returned faintly to his face, and he added another paragraph:

"You said on Sunday that in spite of all the money you had spent on your garden, this was really a better one. Well, you know that I have had to cut down labour in it, and at this moment Pamela and Judith are at work on the tennis lawn, which they have to keep in order themselves if they want to play on it. That's how it is here at Hayslope Hall now, and the girls are happy enough, though I can't spend what I used to on them, and what I should like to. So it really isn't necessary, especially in these days, when nearly everybody is feeling the pinch, to spend a fortune on a garden to get pleasure out of it. If I may say so, I think there's even a touch of vulgarity in it."

Another pause. He didn't want his pen to run away with him. Didn't the last sentence go rather beyond what he could say to William without offence?

No. They had had that out once, years before, in their father's time. Edmund Eldridge was at home on leave from the Curragh, and William on summer vacation from Cambridge. They were driving over to lunch at Pershore Castle, and William appeared for the expedition in a pair of lemon-coloured spats, a form of decorative summer attire then in its infancy. The cavalry subaltern, spick and span in a style of sober correctitude, objected to the lemon-coloured spats, and used the same word, vulgarity, in connection with them; and the undergraduate bowed meekly to his ruling and took them off.

Better leave it at that, though. He had said quite enough to bring William to his bearings, and relieved his own mind of the annoyance that had irked it. It was with quite another feeling underlying his words that he went on to write about the estate affairs in which he was relying upon William's help to deal with the Government. But this was not a matter in which there could be much indication of any state of feeling, unless it was annoyance with the obliquity of the Department concerned; and his letter ended as his letters to William always did, whatever their subject: "Your affec. brother, Edmund Eldridge."

He read the letter over again before dispatching it, but did not detach himself from the varying moods in which it had been written, and when Mrs. Eldridge asked him later what he had said to William, he told her that he had just said that it would be a mistake to enlarge the Grange garden any further, and had written chiefly about another matter.

"You didn't say that he mustn't make this enlargement, did you, dear?" she asked.

"Oh, no. He can go on with that, as he has begun it. I must say that I think it will be the best thing that he has done there. I can't say that I like to see the pasture broken up, but there's been such a lot of it during the war that perhaps it's not so much of a point as it was. One seems to have to change one's views about everything nowadays. I dare say I'm a bit old-fashioned. Got to recognize that I'm getting older, I suppose."

"Dear man!" she said cooingly. "You'll never be old to me, and you don't look old either. Of the two I think you look younger than William, though he pays more attention to his appearance than you do. I hope I don't look very old myself. I don't really feel it. Still, women have to pay attention to their appearance when they reach the forties. Otherwise, people would leave off looking at them. Eleanor doesn't, much; but she's handsome in a different sort of way. I should think she would outlast me; but I shan't make a fuss about it. I love Eleanor; she's so reliable. I'm glad you don't really mind their having their extra garden, dear. It will suit Eleanor better than all the tiresome pergolas and things. She will be able to be quiet in it."