extracting an extra hundred pounds; and so I settled
down to an uneventful summer, restless and inwardly
dissatisfied, unable to make up my mind what to do
next winter, and healthier than I'd ever been in my
life, which (though I wasn't aware of it at the time)
was saying a good deal from the physiological point
I have said I found everything at Butley unchanged.
This was not so, for faithful Miriam had retired from
domestic service and her manner of doing so had
been consistent with her character. During the
winter Aunt Evelyn had persuaded her to go to the
seaside for a fortnight's holiday, as her health had
become noticeably bad. While at the seaside she un-
obtrusively died of heart failure. To the last, there-
fore, she managed to avoid being a trouble to anyone.
This was a severe blow to Aunt Evelyn. She had been
so much a part of the place that I had taken for
granted everything she did. Now that she was gone
I began to regret the occasions when I had shown
her too little consideration.
Stephen Colwood, who was now a well-contented
Artillery subaltern, had stayed for a week with us
at the Kennels, and had departed saying that the
Packlestone country was a fox-hunter's Paradise and
had spoilt him for anything else.
And so my life lumbered on into July, very much
with the same sedate manner of progress which
characterized Homeward's carrier's van. I went to
see the Hunt horses sold at Tattersalls, at the end of
May, and there I encountered many of the friendly
Packlestone faces. After that I avoided London: the
mystery and magnificence of Mayfair remained
remote from my callow comprehension of terrestrial