When the menu was finally settled--no easy task when it concerned the master of the house--Lady Garvington sought out Mrs.Belgrove.That juvenile ancient was sunning herself on the terrace, in the hope of renewing her waning vitality, and, being alone, permitted herself to look old.

She brisked up with a kittenish purr when disturbed, and remarked that the Hengishire air was like champagne.

"My spirits are positively wild and wayward," said the would-be Hebe with a desperate attempt to be youthful.
"Ah, you haven't got the house to look after," sighed Lady Garvington, with a weary look, and dropped into a basket chair to pour out her woes to Mrs.Belgrove.That person was extremely discreet, as years of society struggling had taught her the value of silence.

Her discretion in this respect brought her many confidences, and she was renowned for giving advice which was never taken.
"What's the matter, my dear?
You look a hundred," said Mrs.Belgrove, putting up her lorgnette with a chuckle, as if she had made an original observation.

But she had not, for Lady Garvington always appeared worn and weary, and sallow, and untidy.