One rather warm November day when the red sun was veiled by mist, and spiders’ webs were draped across the hedgerows, we rode out together.

He was rather subdued that day and I asked him if anything had happened to upset him.

“It’s not unexpected,” he answered.

“Dr. Hunter thinks my father can only have another six months to live.”

“Oh, I am sorry.”

“He is old and his condition is worsening. I am more particularly worried about my mother.”

“She is ill, too?”

“No, but they have been so close all their lives. They were neighbours and knew each other from childhood. I can’t imagine what would happen to her if my father died.”

“She will have you.”

“I don’t think that would be enough. She will be so heartbroken it will kill her.

“Do you think people die of broken hearts?”

This would be a broken life. “

I was, as alive as I had ever been.

We rode in silence and he sensed my sympathy, I knew.

It was that day that we found the kittens. When we called at one of the farms on his estate, the farmer’s wife came out from the kitchen wiping her floury arms and Franklyn introduced me as the new tenant at Mercer’s.

“A fine old house,” commented the farmer’s wife, ‘and you couldn’t have a better landlord. “

She insisted on our drinking a glass of her very own elderberry wine and eating one of the buns which she had just taken from the oven. We sat on chairs in the kitchen and she told Franklyn about the farmer’s intention to let gravel-tfaree-acres lie fallow next year. A big tabby cat came in and, purring, rubbed itself against my legs.

“That’s old Tibbies looking for a saucer of milk again,” said the farmer’s wife.

“She’s lost interest in her last litter.”

“How many cats have you now?” asked Franklyn.

“Well, to tell the truth, Mr. Wakefield, I’ve lost count. I can’t bring myself to destroy the little things and in next to no time they’re no longer kitties and have little ones of their own. They scratch around in the barns so they don’t trouble us and they keep the mice away.”

When the farmer came in he took us out to show us the new barn he was putting up and that was when I saw the kitten. There were ten or twelve cats—most of them just passing out of the kitten stage—and I noticed one in particular because she was not so pretty as the rest and was, in fact, rather thin and cowed. When I called her she came readily and I wished I had something to give her to eat.

“This one seems a little outsider,” I said.

“You get them now and then,” said the farmer.

“They’re not so strong as the rest and can’t fend for themselves.”

I said on impulse: “We haven’t a cat. May I have her?”

“We’d be glad for you to take any that you want,” was the farmer’s answer; and I knew I was going to enjoy taking this little one and feeding her and cosseting her to make up for the hard time I was sure she had had on the farm.

We were about to leave the barn when another small cat came running up. She was tawny—much the same colouring as the one I had chosen, but much prettier though she had the same underfed look. She mewed piteously and I thought: She wants to come too. I said: “I’ll have the two. They’ll be company for each other. “

The farmer’s wife found a basket and the two little cats were put in it. Franklyn carried them and we rode off. On our way we called at Whiteladies as Franklyn wanted to see Sir Hilary. Minta came out and was most interested in the cats. While Franklyn was with her father we took them out of the basket and gave them a saucer of-milk apiece.

“They’re darlings,” cried Minta.

“And never had a look-in at meal times. These will be quite different from those cats who started life as pampered pets.”

I saw that she would like to have one so I suggested she should. She was delighted.

“You choose,” I said, ‘and we’ll name them. “

When they had licked their saucers clean they sat licking themselves.

“That one is more beautiful,” said Minta.

The other has more dignity. “

We tried several names and at length I suggested Bella and Donna—Bella for the beauty and Donna for the dignified one.

Minta chose Bella; so I left her behind at Whiteladies.

(t was only a few weeks later that we heard about the copse. Stirling came in in a mood of great excitement. The Cardews were putting up for sale the copse which was on the edge of their grounds.

“They’re obviously being forced to raise money,” he said.

I heard about it from Franklyn. When he said he would buy the copse I asked if he planned to cut down the timber and build on it. He shook his head.

“No. I’ll leave it as it is.” I guessed he was thinking that when he married Minta it would be as though the land had not changed hands.

I was astonished when I saw him next to learn that he had not bought the copse. Someone had made a very big offer for it. I began to feel uneasy when I heard this. I couldn’t wait to see Stirling.

I knew before I said anything. It was what he would call making a move.

“So you’ve bought the Whiteladies copse,” I said.

“How did you know?”

“And,” I went on, ‘you’ve paid about twice as much as it’s worth. “

“What does that matter?”

“Not at all to our golden millionaire. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’ve become very odd lately, Nora. You’re getting more like Them and less like Us.”

“If you mean I try to act tactfully …”

“Oh, come now. What’s tactless about paying a high price for something to help people out.”

“When they know it’s you they’ll be embarrassed.”

“They weren’t embarrassed to take my cheque and get twice as much as the land’s worth.”

“Sir Hilary …”

“Knows nothing about business.”

Well, Minta . “

“She knows even less. It’s Lady Cardew who has the business head in that house.”

“So you arranged it with her.”

“I arranged it with my man of business.”

“I don’t think you should have done it, Stirling.”

“Why not?”

“Because Franklyn Wakefield was going to buy that land and if he had it would have remained in the family.”

“I don’t follow your reasoning.”

“Then you must be blind. Franklyn is going to marry Minta, and when he does he’ll be able to deal with Whiteladies.”

“It’s going to take more than he’s got to put that place to rights.”

“How do you know?”

“I make it my business to know. It needs thousands spent on it.

Wakefield’s comfortably off but he’s no . “

“Millionaire,” I added.

He nodded, smiling. He was certainly a man with an obsession.

Minta spoke to me about the copse.

“I know now that it was Mr. Herrick who bought it. He paid far more than it was worth.”

“He can afford it,” I said rather tersely.

Her eyes shone warmly.

“It was very kind of him.”

“I think he wanted it rather badly.”

“He couldn’t have wanted it. There is plenty of land about which is far more valuable.”

But not Whiteladies, I thought. And I could see by Stirling’s manner that he believed be already had a foot in the door.

You’re wrong, Stirling, I thought. It isn’t going to work out your way. You’ll settle in at Mercer’s or we’ll go back to Australia. I knew then that it wouldn’t have mattered to me either way—as long as I was with Stirling.

Christmas was almost upon us. During the week before, Stirling and I with Maud, Minta and Franklyn accompanied a party of carol singers round the village to collect money for the church. We went to Wakefield Park afterwards where hot soup was served to us. I gathered it was a custom and that long ago Whiteladies had been the setting for it. Franklyn appeared to be taking over Whiteladies’ duties, and when he marries, I thought, he’ll go and live there and old customs will revert to what they once were.

Seeing his father seated in his chair with the tartan rug over his knees and his mother hovering close, it occurred to me that he had delayed asking Minta to marry him because of his parents. When he was married he would be expected to live at Whiteladies and he wished to remain with his father for what time was left to him.

We all met again on Christmas morning at church and in the late afternoon went to Wakefield Park where we were to dine. The place looked festive hung with holly and mistletoe and I was reminded of Adelaide’s attempts to bring an English atmosphere into our home on the other side of the world.

It was the traditional Christmas—turkey and plum pudding blazing with brandy, and gifts for everyone from a Christmas tree in the centre of the drawing-room. Toasts were drunk to our hosts, to their guests and particularly to newcomers. There were several guests besides ourselves and after dinner more called in. In a large ballroom we danced, to the music of two violins, the old country dances—Jenny Pluck Pears and Sir Roger de Coverley—and afterwards we waltzed and some of us tried the minuet. I enjoyed it all and tried not to think of Christmases spent in Australia. Franklyn’s parents stayed up until the end and I noticed the old man nodding and beating time to the music, and how his eyes and those of his wife followed Franklyn all the time.

“It was a lovely Christmas,” I told Franklyn; and he replied in his stilted way how pleased he was that I had not been bored by their old customs.

On the way home Stirling admitted it had been an enjoyable day and told me he had invited them all to the Mercer’s House for the New Year.