The last loads of hay were being carted in.

There was an ecstasy in the songs of the birds and a transporting sense of sweetness about all the sights and scents of the country, such as Jane had never experienced so vividly before.
She drew a deep breath and exclaimed, almost involuntarily: "Ah! it is good to be here!" "You dear!" said Lady Ingleby, twirling her whip and nodding in gracious response to respectful salutes from the hay-field.

"It is a comfort to have you! I always feel you are like the bass of a tune--something so solid and satisfactory and beneath one in case of a crisis.

I hate crises.

They are so tiring.