constantly seeking her society. It was the only intimacy that Molly had
formed since she had come up to London.

As Lent was drawing to a close, Mrs. Delaport Green became much occupied
at the thought of how many services she wished to attend. "One does so
wish one could be in several churches at once," she murmured to a devout
lady at an evening party. But, finding one of these churches to be
excessively crowded on Palm Sunday, she had gone for a turn in the
country in her motor with a friend, "as, after all, green fields, and a
few early primroses make one realise, more than anything else in the
world, the things one wishes one could think about quietly at such
seasons."

For Easter there were the happiest prospects, as she and Molly had been
invited to stay at a delightful house "far from the madding
crowd"--Groombridge Castle--with a group of dear friends.

Molly, knowing that "dear friends" with her hostess meant new and most
desirable acquaintances, bought hats adorned with spring flowers and
garments appropriate to the season with great satisfaction.

Their luggage, their bags, and their maid looked perfect on the day of
departure, and Tim had gone off to Brighton in an excellent temper. Mrs.
Delaport Green trod on air in pretty buckled shoes, and patted the toy
terrier under her arm and felt as if all the society papers on the
bookstall knew that they would soon have to tell whither she was going.

"I saw Sir Edmund Grosse's servant just now," she said to Molly with
great satisfaction. "Very likely Sir Edmund is coming to Groombridge.
Why does one always think that everybody going by the same train is