Joyously he unpacked his trunk and took from it a Norfolk jacket
suit and stockings, changed, and, leaving his luggage with his
landlady, who was to obey further instructions as to its disposal,
marched buoyantly away through the sun-filled streets of the little
town, stick in hand, gripsack on shoulder, and the unquenchable fire
of youth and hope in his heart.



CHAPTER VIII

MISS URSULA WINWOOD, hatless, but with a cotton sunshade swinging
over her shoulder, and with a lean, shiny, mahogany-coloured Sussex
spaniel trailing behind, walked in her calm, deliberate way down the
long carriage drive of Drane's Court. She was stout and florid, and
had no scruples as to the avowal of her age, which was forty-three.
She had clear blue eyes which looked steadily upon a complicated
world of affairs, and a square, heavy chin which showed her capacity
for dealing with it. Miss Ursula Winwood knew herself to be a
notable person, and the knowledge did not make her vain or crotchety
or imperious. She took her notability for granted, as she took her
mature good looks and her independent fortune. For some years she
had kept house for her widowed brother, Colonel Winwood,
Conservative Member for the Division of the county in which they
resided, and helped him efficiently in his political work. The
little township of Morebury--half a mile from the great gates of
Drane's Court--felt Miss Winwood's control in diverse ways.
Another town, a little further off, with five or six millions of
inhabitants, was also, through its newspapers, aware of Miss