"I think they must teach you to pay compliments at Oxford, Philip,"
she answered, flushing with pleasure, "but it is all rubbish for you
to say that I am pretty, because I know I am not"--and then,
confidentially, glancing round to see that there was nobody within
hearing (Hilda was engaged with a porter in looking after her things):
"Just look at my nose, and you will soon change your mind. It's
broader, and flatter, and snubbier than ever. I consider that I have
got a bone to pick with Providence about that nose. Ah! here comes
Hilda. Isn't she lovely! There's beauty for you if you like. She
hasn't got a nose. Come and show us to the carriage. You will come and
lunch with us to-morrow, won't you? I am so glad to get back to the
old house again; and I mean to have such a garden! 'Life is short, and
joys are fleeting,' as Aunt Chambers always says, so I mean to make
the best of it whilst it lasts. I saw your father yesterday. He is a
dear old man, though he has such awful eyes. I never felt so happy in
my life as I do now. Good-bye. One o'clock." And she was gone, leaving
Philip with something to think about.

Philip's reception at home was cordial and reassuring. He found his
father considerably aged in appearance, but as handsome and upright as
ever, and to all appearance heartily glad to see him.

"I am glad to see you back, my boy," he said. "You come to take your
proper place. If you look at me, you will see that you won't have long
to wait before you take mine. I can't last much longer, Philip, I feel
that. Eighty-two is a good age to have reached. I have had my time,
and put the property in order, and now I suppose I must make room. I
went with the clerk, old Jakes, and marked out my grave yesterday.
There's a nice little spot the other side of the stone that they say
marks where old yeoman Caresfoot, who planted Caresfoot's Staff, laid