Publisher's Synopsis
It was raining, apparently, but she didn't mind-she would put on stout shoes and walk over toPlash. She was restless and so fidgety that it was a pain; there were strange voices that frightenedher-they threw out the ugliest intimations-in the empty rooms at home. She would see old Mrs.Berrington, whom she liked because she was so simple, and old Lady Davenant, who was stayingwith her and who was interesting for reasons with which simplicity had nothing to do. Then shewould come back to the children's tea-she liked even better the last half-hour in the schoolroom, with the bread and butter, the candles and the red fire, the little spasms of confidence of Miss Steetthe nursery-governess, and the society of Scratch and Parson (their nicknames would have made youthink they were dogs) her small, magnificent nephews, whose flesh was so firm yet so soft and theireyes so charming when they listened to stories. Plash was the dower-house and about a mile and ahalf, through the park, from Mellows. It was not raining after all, though it had been; there was onlya grayness in the air, covering all the strong, rich green, and a pleasant damp, earthy smell, and thewalks were smooth and hard, so that the expedition was not arduous
