This time there were four guffaws.

"The funniest part was that, as he bowed, old Bessie curtsied," Douglas chortled. "He got more of an eyeful than he had ever had in his life, I'm willing to bet."

Giles cleared his throat and the three friends suddenly showed signs of discomfort. Douglas glanced furtively at Henry.

Henry stared candidly back. "You mean she had a large bosom?"

Douglas suddenly found it imperative to check his horse's shoes. He muttered something about suspecting that the horse was limping.

Giles and Henry strolled ahead. They were remarkably alike in appearance, both slim and lithe and youthful. Both had short, tumbled auburn curls, healthy suntanned faces, and sparkling eyes. Both were dressed informally in breeches and loose-fitting shirts, open at the neck. The only noticeable difference was that Henry was a head shorter than Giles.

"Well, this is it, then," Giles said, smiling ruefully down at his companion, "our farewell to Roedean Manor. Tomorrow we will be on our way to London. And I suppose life will never be quite the same again."

"When Papa died last year," Henry said seriously, "and Peter inherited, it seemed like a blessing that a year of mourning had to be observed. It seemed like such a reprieve when Peter allowed the twins and me to spend the year here instead of dragging us immediately to London."

"Yes, but time passes so quickly," sighed Giles.

"And it is quite horrid to think of having to move to town," Henry agreed. "I don't think I can live without room in which to move. Papa was such a brick. He let us grow up as we wished and never cared for appearances. And he never ever suggested removing any of us to London. "