"That's the sort of society we've been asked to meet," he said.

"For us old folk it didn't matter; but for Grace--Giles should have known better!" Meanwhile, in the empty house from which the guests had just cleared out, the subject of their discourse was walking from room to room surveying the general displacement of furniture with no ecstatic feeling; rather the reverse, indeed.

At last he entered the bakehouse, and found there Robert Creedle sitting over the embers, also lost in contemplation.

Winterborne sat down beside him.
"Well, Robert, you must be tired.

You'd better get on to bed." "Ay, ay, Giles--what do I call ye?
Maister, I would say.