After Mrs. McDermott's departure from Pincote, life there slipped back into its old quiet groove¹--into its old dull groove which was growing duller day by day. The Squire² had altogether ceased to see company: when any of his old friends called he was never at home to them; and on the score of ill health he declined every invitation that was sent to him. But it was not altogether on account of his health that these invitations were declined, because three or four times a week he would be seen somewhere about the country roads being driven out by Jane in the basket-carriage. There was another reason for this state of things--a reason to which his friends and neighbours were not slow in giving a name. The Squire in his old age was becoming a miser³: that is what the said friends and neighbours averred⁴. But to dub⁵ him as a miser was altogether unjust: he was simply becoming penurious⁶ for his daughter's sake, as many other men are penurious for ends much more ignoble⁷. He had, in fact, decided⁸ upon carrying out that modest scheme of domestic retrenchment⁹ of which mention has been made in a previous chapter, and the mode of living adopted by him now did undoubtedly¹⁰, to many people, seem miserly in comparison with that lavish¹¹ hospitality for which Pincote had heretofore been noted¹². The Squire knew that he could not go much into society without giving return invitations. Now the four or five state dinners which he had been in the habit of giving every year were very elaborate and expensive affairs, and he no longer felt himself

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