"He is coming up for the Press dinner, and will sleep here, to be
ready for Primrose-day."

"That's prime, whatever brings him."

"There, children, go and _do_ the flowers, and drink tea. I am going
to read to your uncle to keep him fresh for Lance."

"How bright she looks," said Gerald, as Anna began collecting vases
from the tables in a drawing-room not professionally artistic, but
entirely domestic, and full of grace and charm of taste, looking over
a suburban garden fresh with budding spring to a church spire.

"The thought of Uncle Lance has cheered them both very much."

"So the Vicar is really recovering?"

"Since Cousin Marilda flew at the curates, and told them that if they
came near him with their worries, they should never see a farthing of
hers! And they are all well at home? Is anything going on?"

"Chiefly defence of the copses from primrose marauders. You know the
great agitation. They want to set up a china clay factory on
Penbeacon, and turn the Ewe, not to say the Leston, into milk and
water."

"The wretches! But they can't. It is yours."

"Not the western quarry; but they cannot get the stream without a
piece of the land which belongs to Hodnet's farm, for which they make