"Thro' light and shadow thou dost range,
Sudden glances, sweet and strange,
Delicious spites and darling angers,
And airy forms of flitting change."
LORD TENNYSON.
There were white curtains at the windows in all the front rooms now. Mr. Wycherly's books were ranged on their appointed shelves and the packing cases removed to the attic. Mrs. Dew was admitted to the study with duster and broom, and it began to look home-like and habitable. Once more did Mr. Wycherly sit at his knee-hole table engaged in his great work upon the Nikomachean ethics. The family was settling down.
"Will everybody come and see us now they know we're here?" asked Edmund, who had invaded the study one afternoon just after luncheon.
"I'm not at all sure that anyone will come and see us," Mr. Wycherly answered serenely. "Why should they?"
"Oh, well, for friendliness. How are we to get to know people if they don't come and see us? Shall we go and see them?"
"Certainly not," Mr. Wycherly said hastily. "That would be pushing and impertinent."
"But I like knowing folks," Edmund persisted. "I knew everybody at Burnhead."
"Burnhead is a little village. Oxford is a big town, and in big towns people are too busy to concern themselves about newcomers."
"Not Mrs. Methuen," Edmund argued. "She takes a great interest in us."
"She is a kind and gracious lady," said Mr. Wycherly, "but you mustn't expect everybody to be like Mrs. Methuen."