The next day was dull and low, and the roads were awful, for it had been raining for
weeks, yet the young ones set off on their trip, without taking Granny's message either.
They just slipped out while she was making her slow trip upstairs after lunch. Not for
anything would they have called at Lady Louth's house. That widow of a knighted doctor,
a harmless person indeed, had become an obnoxity in their lives.
Six young rebels, they sat very perkily in the car as they swished through the mud. Yet
they had a peaked look too. After all, they had nothing really to rebel against, any of them.
They were left so very free in their movements. Their parents let them do almost entirely
as they liked. There wasn't really a fetter to break, nor a prison–bar to file through, nor a
bolt to shatter. The keys of their lives were in their own hands. And there they dangled
inert.
It is very much easier to shatter prison bars than to open undiscovered doors to life. As the
younger generation finds out, somewhat to its chagrin. True, there was Granny. But poor
old Granny, you couldn't actually say to her: "Lie down and die, you old woman!" She
might be an old nuisance, but she never really DID anything. It wasn't fair to hate her.
So the young people set off on their jaunt, trying to be very full of beans. They could
really do as they liked. And so, of course, there was nothing to do but sit in the car and
talk a lot of criticism of other people, and silly flirty gallantry that was really rather a bore.
If there had only been a few "strict orders" to be disobeyed! But nothing: beyond the
refusal to carry the message to Lady Louth, of which the rector would approve, because he
didn't encourage King Charles' Head either.
They sang, rather scrappily, the latest would–be comic songs, as they went through the
grim villages. In the great park the deer were in groups near the road, roe deer and fallow,
nestling in the gloom of the afternoon under the oaks by the road, as if for the stimulus of
human company.
Yvette insisted on stopping and getting out to talk to them. The girls, in their Russian
boots, tramped through the damp grass while the deer watched them with big,
unfrightened eyes. The hart trotted away mildly, holding back his head, because of the
weight of the horns. But the doe, balancing her big ears, did not rise from under the tree,
with her half–grown young ones, till the girls were almost in touch. Then she walked
lightfoot away, lifting her tail from her spotted flanks, while the young ones nimbly
trotted.
"Aren't they awfully dainty and nice!" cried Yvette. "You'd wonder they could lie so
cosily in this horrid wet grass."
"Well I suppose they've got to lie down SOMETIME," said Lucille. "And it's FAIRLY
