death, a few years since, of Thomas, fifth Duke of Meldrum. He had
come to a sudden and, as the duchess often remarked, very suitable
end; for, on his sixty-second birthday, clad in all the splendours
of his hunting scarlet, top hat, and buff corduroy breeches, the
mare he was mercilessly putting at an impossible fence suddenly
refused, and Thomas, Duke of Meldrum, shot into a field of turnips;
pitched upon his head, and spoke no more.

This sudden cessation of his noisy and fiery life meant a complete
transformation in the entourage of the duchess. Hitherto she had had
to tolerate the boon companions, congenial to himself, with whom he
chose to fill the house; or to invite those of her own friends to
whom she could explain Thomas, and who suffered Thomas gladly, out
of friendship for her, and enjoyment of lovely Overdene. But even
then the duchess had no pleasure in her parties; for, quaint rough
diamond though she herself might appear, the bluest of blue blood
ran in her veins; and, though her manner had the off-hand abruptness
and disregard of other people's feelings not unfrequently found in
old ladies of high rank, she was at heart a true gentlewoman, and
could always be trusted to say and do the right thing in moments of
importance: The late duke's language had been sulphurous and his
manners Georgian; and when he had been laid in the unwonted quiet of
his ancestral vault--"so unlike him, poor dear," as the duchess
remarked, "that it is quite a comfort to know he is not really
there"--her Grace looked around her, and began to realise the
beauties and possibilities of Overdene.

At first she contented herself with gardening, making an aviary, and
surrounding herself with all sorts of queer birds and beasts; upon
whom she lavished the affection which, of late years, had known no