"Why, it's as dry as a bone!" she declared.

"Would you want us water-logged the whole year through?" asked Abner
pungently.

"And as for ennui," she pursued, "I'm sure it isn't going to be found
here--no more in winter than in summer. However"--with a wave of the hand
toward the spires--"there is always the town."

No, the parents of Giles had taken strong measures to keep boredom at
bay. They had their books and magazines; they had a pair of good trotters
and a capacious carryall, with other like aids to locomotion in reserve;
they had a telephone; they had a pianola, with a change of rolls once a
month; they had neighbours of their own sort and were indomitable in
keeping up neighbourly relations.

"I think you'll be able to stand it for a week," said Medora serenely.

"We've done it once before," said Bond.

"Don't be anxious about _us_!" added Clytie.

Medora Giles took Abner in her own special care. She knew pretty nearly
what he thought of her, and she was inclined to amuse herself--though at
the same time making no considerable concession--by placing herself
before him in a more favourable light. In her dress, her manner, her
bearing there was a certain half-alien delicacy, finesse, aloofness. She
would not lay this altogether aside, even at home, even in the informal
country; but she would provide a homely medium, suited to Abner's rustic