There's nobody else to look after her." Mrs.Pendyce sighed, and, rising from her chair, said: "Very well, dear Grig; do let us go and have some tea." Tea at Worsted Skeynes was served in the hall on Sundays, and was usually attended by the Rector and his wife.

Young Cecil Tharp had walked over with his dog, which could be heard whimpering faintly outside the front-door.
General Pendyce, with his knees crossed and the tips of his fingers pressed together, was leaning back in his chair and staring at the wall.
The Squire, who held his latest bird's-egg in his hand, was showing its spots to the Rector.
In a corner by a harmonium, on which no one ever played, Norah talked of the village hockey club to Mrs.Barter, who sat with her eyes fixed on her husband.

On the other side of the fire Bee and young Tharp, whose chairs seemed very close together, spoke of their horses in low tones, stealing shy glances at each other.

The light was failing, the wood logs crackled, and now and then over the cosy hum of talk there fell short, drowsy silences--silences of sheer warmth and comfort, like the silence of the spaniel John asleep against his master's boot.
"Well," said Gregory softly, "I must go and see this man." "Is it really necessary, Grig, to see him at all?
I mean--if you've made up your mind----" Gregory ran his hand through his hair.
"It's only fair, I think!" And crossing the hall, he let himself out so quietly that no one but Mrs.Pendyce noticed he had gone.
An hour and a half later, near the railway-station, on the road from the village back to Worsted Skeynes, Mr.Pendyce and his daughter Bee were returning from their Sunday visit to their old butler, Bigson.

The Squire was talking.
"He's failing, Bee-dear old Bigson's failing.