As he crossed the green he noticed that the villagers had left it. Cheering, at a distance, lent colour to the hypothesis that John Exton’s release would lead to more ale-drinking. After that Upworthy would forgive and forget. On the morrow, popular feeling would be as flat as the dregs of ale left in the big tankards.

Lady Selina would not forget.

His feeling for her was now one of intensest pity, and, as he walked, he beheld himself as the fateful instrument by which fresh laceration must be inflicted. She had thanked him civilly for his services, but she had not held out her uninjured hand, simply because his final expression of opinion ranked him amongst her critics. Very few women of the better sort, conscious, as they are, of self-sacrifice to what they conceive to be duty, can endure criticism. He knew, also, that he had disappointed Cicely, too young and too loving a daughter not to resent plain-speaking if it hurt an already stricken creature. Many a gallant gentleman, he reflected, would have lied convincingly at such a moment.

Dinner was awaiting him at Mrs. Rockram’s, but he had no appetite. To distract attention from himself, he decided to walk up to the Hall and see what was left of it. Mounting the gentle slopes of the park, fatigue assailed him afresh; every bone in his body seemed to be aching. But the storm had passed away, leaving clear skies and a delicious freshness of atmosphere. He stopped to inhale the odours of grateful earth.

In the mid-distance he could see the walls of the house, still standing. Smoke ascended from them and steam, for the Wilverley fire engine was at work. He could hear the sharp rap of the pistons. The roof had vanished; out of the blackened walls, like sightless eyes, glared what had been windows, the windows that reflected so gloriously the setting sun.

An ancient home had been destroyed.

It would be rebuilt, of course, with all modern improvements, electric light, bathrooms, and labour-saving devices—a change for the better, so Mrs. Grundy would affirm. Lady Selina would not think so. Could she, could anybody of her age adjust themselves to new conditions?

When he reached the lawn he was greeted by two energetic persons, Arthur Wilverley and Tiddy. In a few words Wilverley stated that his labours were ended. The stables and some outbuildings had been saved. He added:

“Lady Selina ought to have had a small engine here.”

He looked exuberantly strong and fit, with no air of the dejected and rejected lover about him. Here was one who could adapt himself to new conditions. Presently he led Grimshaw aside and listened attentively to a terse recital of what had happened in Upworthy, laughing heartily when he heard of Gridley and the horsepond, expressing sympathy tempered by humour for Lady Selina.

“If this wakes her up, Grimshaw, all will be well.”

Grimshaw made no reply. Wilverley continued in a different tone:

“Ought I to see her to-night before I go home?”

“As her doctor I’m afraid I must veto that.”

“Thank you; I understand. I shall write. Miss Tiddle wants to see Miss Chandos. I can wait in the car.” Then, sensible of constraint in Grimshaw’s manner, and misinterpreting it, he added frankly: “You are a good chap; you can size up a delicate situation. I will say this to you. This fire has burnt away some humiliation. I believe that good must crop out. If I can help, I will. Miss Tiddle feels as I do—a remarkable girl that!”

“Yes.”

“You look rather fagged.”

“I have a touch of malaria on me.”

They sauntered back to the engine. Wilverley described with enthusiasm Miss Tiddle’s executive abilities. Under her capable direction all the more valuable pictures, porcelain and plate had been stored in the coach-house. Other outbuildings held furniture and household stores.

“That young lady can get a move on,” declared Wilverley.

Grimshaw wondered whether he was contrasting Miss Tiddle with Cicely, not to the advantage of the latter. Quite sincerely he hoped that it might be so. In time—Wilverley would take time—Miss Tiddle might play Jill to his Jack. They would mount the hill of life together, and not trouble down it. The pail of water carried by such a pair would be used to irrigate the waste patches of others. He refused a lift back to the village in the big car, and watched it whirl off, Wilverley at the wheel and Miss Tiddle beside him.