The Baroness, who should have been
greeted on her return to the stage with the pleasing
invocation, ``Oh, Clytemnestra, radiant as the dawn,'' heard
instead the imperious voice of Lady Thistledale ordering her
carriage, and something like a storm of open discord going
on at the back of the room.
*
The social divisions in the County healed themselves after
their own fashion; both parties found common ground in
condemning the Baroness's outrageously bad taste and
tactlessness.
She has been fortunate in sub-letting for the greater part
of her seven years' lease.
THE PEACE OF MOWSLE BARTON
Crefton Lockyer sat at his ease, an ease alike of body and
soul, in the little patch of ground, half-orchard and
half-garden, that abutted on the farmyard at Mowsle Barton.
After the stress and noise of long years of city life, the
repose and peace of the hill-begirt homestead struck on his
senses with an almost dramatic intensity. Time and space
seemed to lose their meaning and their abruptness; the
minutes slid away into hours, and the meadows and fallows
sloped away into middle distance, softly and imperceptibly.
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