Too much London was bad for him! Too much----Her fancy flew to the London which she saw now only for three weeks in June and July, for the sake of the girls, just when her garden was at its best, and when really things were such a whirl that she never knew whether she was asleep or awake.

It was not like London at all--not like that London under spring skies, or in early winter lamplight, where all the passers-by seemed so interesting, living all sorts of strange and eager lives, with strange and eager pleasures, running all sorts of risks, hungry sometimes, homeless even--so fascinating, so unlike-- "Now, my dear, you'll be late!" Mr.Pendyce, in his Norfolk jacket, which he was on his way to change for a black coat, passed through the room, followed by the spaniel John.
He turned at the door, and the spaniel John turned too.
"I hope to goodness Barter'll be short this morning.

I want to talk to old Fox about that new chaff-cutter." Round their mistress the three terriers raised their heads; the aged Skye gave forth a gentle growl.

Mrs.Pendyce leaned over and stroked his nose.
"Roy, Roy, how can you, dear ?" Mr.Pendyce said: "The old dog's losing all his teeth; he'll have to be put away." His wife flushed painfully.
"Oh no, Horace--oh no!" The Squire coughed.
"We must think of the dog!" he said.
Mrs.Pendyce rose, and crumpling the letter nervously, followed him from the room.
A narrow path led through the home paddock towards the church, and along it the household were making their way.

The maids in feathers hurried along guiltily by twos and threes; the butler followed slowly by himself.