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Kinicki, Fugate, & Digby OB: Key Concepts, Skills, and Best Practices 5th Canadian Edition Page 6-1
Instructor’s Manual Copyright © 2016 McGraw-Hill Ryerson
Unit 3
Chapter 6
Fundamental Concepts of Groups Behaviour
Learning Objectives
After reading this chapter, the student should be able to:
• LO 1 List and define the five stages of Tuckman’s theory of group development.
• LO 2 Contrast roles and norms, emphasizing reasons why norms are enforced in
organizations.
• LO 3 Examine the process of how a work group becomes a team, emphasizing various
teamwork competencies.
• LO 4 Explain why trust is a key ingredient to building an effective team, referring to both
self-managed and virtual teams.
• LO 5 Summarize two threats to group and team effectiveness.
Chapter Overview
This chapter begins unit three which essentially becomes a shift in focus away from individual
behaviour towards group behaviour. It’s important to recognize that we don’t study OB in a
vacuum; it is the study of the organization and its members in a social environment. Any
student that has had to work with others on a school project will know the challenges that
working with others can bring. Not everyone can appreciate the value of teamwork or
understand the value in what it can bring to improving the final product. So, this chapter will
help students see the value in teamwork, how it’s being applied throughout the work world and
how it can assist the organization overall. Our discussions will first look at the fundamental
building blocks behind formal and informal groups, then we’ll move on to how groups develop,
followed by the various roles and norms that exist within groups. Since some people believe
that groups and teams are the same, we’ll spend time explaining the differences, specifically
discussing self-managed teams and the more contemporary virtual teams. To wrap things up,
we’ll explain what factor(s) nurture teamwork; as well as those that can threaten team
effectiveness.
I. Begin Lesson by Capturing the Attention of Students
Ia. 3 Reflection Questions for Class:
1. How do groups develop?
2. How do work groups become a team?

3. What factors help teams run effectively and what factors threaten team
effectiveness?
-
Ib. OB in the News:
• Find current stories and information in the media that relates directly to OB
concepts being taught in the course – items that relate to group behaviour,
team effectiveness, poor work teams vs. good work teams, team-building
experiences, tactics to help make people work in a team-like manner, etc..
Ic. OB Question of The Day:
• How important is trust when developing a productive group mindset and how
can it be developed between colleagues who are members of the same group?
II. Ice Breaker: Facing an OB Challenge
This OB Challenge is about an individual who is having a difficult time working with others and is
trying to justify why there is no need to live up to the expectation of doing so. They are seeking
validation in their point of view. Here’s the situation:
I have been told that working with others is a skill that must be learned and appreciated by
employees; but I don’t like working with others. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I can’t do it,
it’s just that I don’t enjoy it and would prefer not to because no one has the same expectations
as me. Whenever I have worked with others in the past, they always burn me and I actually do
worse than if I just worked on my own. I’ve talked to my friends about this – one is in accounting
and the other is an IT specialist and they agree with me totally. In some fields there is just no
need for teams because working alone is actually just as productive. Am I right?
– Not a Team Player
Ask the class the following questions:
Q: Why is it so difficult working with others on tasks? If there is one thing that students can
relate to, it’s the various problems of working with others – surely most students will be able to
share experiences of their own where a group activity fell apart and ended up a disaster.
Q: Is the individual in this OB Challenge correct in their point-of-view? This is an opinion
question and will allow the students to share personal experiences they have that are very
similar to ‘Not A Team Player’.
III. Individual Student Engagement Activities
• Self-Assessment Exercises: To encourage student engagement with materials and topic,
invite the students to complete the self-assessment found within the chapter:
1. 6.1 assesses how autonomous is their work group.

• CONNECT/LearnSmart: Call the attention of the students towards the CONNECT Library
of Student Learning Resources for Chapter 6. For example, the Tegrity video for chapter
6 can be extremely helpful for online courses where lecture capture isn’t available or
possible. Further, the LearnSmart lesson for Chapter 6 is a helpful tool to reinforce the
theoretical concepts. Depending on the cognitive ability of the students as well as the
level of the learning outcomes expected, consider this reminder to adjust the
LearnSmart settings accordingly, the professor can determine the amount of time and
level of depth of knowledge for each lesson.
IV. Multi-Media Exercise(s)
• When it comes to being an effective team, trusting others is very important, so
how do organizations develop trust among their people? Some send employee
teams to Tough Mudder events – some call it a place where Ironman meets
Burning Man. Go to any ‘Tough Mudder’ site on the Internet for various
samples of the rigorous course maps designed or watch one of the many event
videos posted highlighting past successes.
Another team example worth showing is the teambuilding event Canadian
Outback (an event management company) organized for their own office staff
back in 2008 when they went to Alberta. You may want to Google search
Canadian Outback Adventures and see the many exciting events, trips and
training they offer.
• Catching colleagues in your arms Exercise – try inviting students up to the front
of the class to demonstrate this activity (be sure to use much caution and care)
while playing a video clip from YouTube ‘PruAction Team Building Trust’ (that
provide financial services in Wealth Creation, Wealth Protection, Wealth
Accumulation and Wealth Distribution – founded in Malaysia)
Note: Be sure to have plenty of people catching and no obstacles
in the way to break the fall backwards.
• Selflessness when engaged in a competitive moment against others. There are
several Youtube videos about those that have sacrificed their own
accomplishments for the betterment of others. Try going to ‘Seattle Special
Olympics Boy Falls’ or ‘Ohio Runner Helps Fallen Opponent Across Finish Line At
Track Meet Video ABC News’ or “Cross Country Runner Carries Injured
Competitor Across Finish Line”. These words will take you to a few true story
events. The first relates to the boy that fell during a race and what the other
competing athletes did when they noticed it is remarkable. The second and
third video clips show the story of two high school students one who falls and
the other student stops to pick her up and help her. The message from these
two videos is clear – on the greater team of humanity, we’re here to help
others. But, if a student can understand this concept here, then it should be

easier getting them to see how that is the kind of spirit needed during an actual
team event. . . even in the corporate world.
V. OB in the Movies
You can begin this chapter by showing a series of inspirational sports clips; here are some
movies you may want to consider:
• Remember The Titans (2000) Buena Vista Pictures – show the part of the movie where
the coach (Denzel Washington) of the high school team take them all on a long run to a
graveyard to listen to the voice from history talk about coming together for the greater
good.
• Rudy (1993) TriStar Pictures – the true story about the high school player that wanted to
play university (Notre Dame) football but he wasn’t a strong candidate academically, nor
physically, nor did he come from an affluent family. . . but he eventually makes the team
as the team supports him. Great human spirit movie.
• The Blind Side (2009) Warner Brothers – this movie talks about the true story of an NFL
player who was faced with many challenges growing up; but how he was able to
overcome difficulties with the help of others.
• Hoosiers (1986) Orion Pictures – Boys high school basketball team overcomes adversity
with the help of a determined coach (Gene Hackman).
• Miracle (2004) Buena Vista Pictures – True story about the US Men’s Hockey team
winning Gold over the Soviet team at the 1980 Olympic Games.
• Brian’s Song (1970) Columbia Pictures – True story about NFL football player Brian
Piccolo who was supported by his team members during his treatment of cancer.
Warning – a real tearful story, bring Kleenex!
VI. Chapter Discussion, Summary Points & Collaborative Learning
PART #1
Teacher Directed:
The chapter opens with a self-assessment and a discussion around the four sociological criteria
of a group (Fig. 6-1); it then proceeds to make distinctions around the various types of groups
that evolve. What the students should observe immediately is that forming a team has a
purpose, it is a means to an end; the type of team there is can be traced back to the very reason
it was formed in the first place. And this is why it’s not successful to go into a workplace that
has never had teams and suddenly overnight claim that ‘it is now a team work environment’ –
the employees will naturally ask “why?” Clearly, there must be a reason to introduce team
orientation into the workplace and the entire organization must buy into the model for it to
work. If you can illustrate this point early in your lecture, then students will have a good start to
appreciating a fundamental factor of the group process.
Figure 6-2 illustrates Tuckman’s model of the various stages of group development; this is a
classic model that must be referred to and then compared against Figure 6.3 Punctuated
Equilibrium Model. By going through the characteristics of each stage, the students will see the

organizational challenges, employee benefits and management implications that go hand in
hand with each. Comparing these two figures will show students a theoretical model versus a
more realistic model of group performance.
Group member roles (Table. 6-1) and group norms (Table 6-2) are segments worth addressing
because every student has experienced both. By pointing out the kind of roles that exist in
groups, students will begin to see themselves and their own behaviours in the descriptions you
offer. The collaborative learning exercise below is a fun way of getting the students familiar
with group member roles. When it comes to roles, some professors have referred to the
Iditarod, the famous Alaska dog race, to demonstrate the different roles that the dogs play in
the sled team. The role of Malamute vs. Samoyed vs. Siberian Huskies on a team … which is
known for speed? Brains? Strength? Go to the home page of the race ( www.iditarod.com ) to
show a short video clip. For comparison in types of breeds, you may want to do a search on
Alaskan Malamute differences from Siberian Huskies. . . mention role differences in racing and
then relate it to role differences on work teams.
Collaborative Learning:
• Pair & Share - Break the class into five small groups or have them work with the person
next to them on the following exercise:
1. Have the class turn to the back of their chapter and refer to the Experiential
Exercise titled “Combining Tuckman’s Model With A Team Contract Exercise”
2. Assign each student group one term of the contract (there are a total of 6
subheads but the first example has been provided for the students).
3. Ask the students to follow the instructions to the exercise and review the
expectations for the outcome. (5 minutes)
4. Once the time has expired, call the class back into session and share responses
from the class for each section of the contract. Write comments on the board
making enhancement comments along the way. 10 minutes
5. Summarize the exercise for the class – an opportunity to understand Tuckman’s
theory from a practical perspective.
PART #2
Teacher Directed:
The chapter now moves into the transition from group to teams, teamwork and trust. This is
where the discussion of how a team is more than a group can be tabled – the International OB
feature box about Formula One racing teams might get the class attention quickly. The benefits
of self-managed work teams and their effectiveness would be appropriate. Any comments
around cross-functionalism would be welcomed too at this point.
The chapter then moves into the discussion around teambuilding. You may want to go back to
the Iditarod dog race example and explain how the trainers get the dogs to work as a team. The
roles of the different dogs may vary, and the dog’s abilities may vary . . .but the musher gets
them working as a team. . .how? You may want to do a search “Scholastic News – Iditarod Race
Across Alaska” This article is an interview with a 17 year old girl who comes from a family of

mushers who race – the interview is interesting and informative about how they select the dogs,
the gender, how they train the dogs and what they look for, etc. (www.scholastic.com )
As a transition into the discussion around trust, ask the class if any have been part of a virtual
team – ask them how they liked it, what the benefits were and some of the challenges, etc.
Now define trust and review the six guidelines of building trust (see chapter) . . .now ask the
class how a manager can build trust on a virtual team with people that don’t know each other
personally or have never met face to face – how is that done? Is it possible? Refer to the
research insights provided in the chapter on this topic – it will be helpful. If you have a chance
to refer to the Law & Ethics At Work feature box, this is a terrific discussion relevant to teams at
work . . . ‘social deviance in virtual teamwork’.
• Pair & Share - Break the class into five small sections. Have the class turn to the back of
the chapter and refer to the OB in Action Case Study “The Cool Box: A Journey From An
Informal Group to Formal Design Team” Read the case as a class – may take 3-4
minutes out loud. Have them work with the person sitting next to them or around them
on the next exercise:
1. Students sitting in #1 section – Answer question #1
2. Students sitting in #2 section – Answer question #2
3. Continue doing the same for questions 3, 4 & 5.
• Allow the class to have at least 3-5 minutes to talk between themselves.
• Section #1 - Pick one or two students to come to the front of the class and lead the
discussion around their topic – writing key points on the board.
• After 2 minutes thank the students and have two students from the next section come
to the front of the class.
• Repeat this activity until all sections have had a chance to discuss their topic(s).
Summarize this part of the discussion around the role of trust in team activities. The answer key
for the five discussion questions can be found in the following pages under Section XI.OB in
Action Case Study.
PART #3
Teacher Directed:
Teams can be threatened and effectiveness diminished – that’s just the way things can occur.
So, what sort of common mistakes are made, what are some of the ways around them? In the
last part of this chapter we discuss these very issues: Groupthink and social loafing. What are
they and how do they occur? Why do they occur? Review these fundamental points with the
class including the Skills & Best Practice feature box. This part of the class discussion will be
short to accommodate the time needed to complete the collaborative learning exercise.
1. Pair & Share – Break the class into two groups and have each investigate
an example of groupthink. Here are the options to focus on:

o The US Space Shuttle “Challenger: The Untold Story Part 7 of
10” (1987) Disaster Group Think.
o Jonestown Groupthink (1978 Guyana – South America)
“Drinking The Koolaid”
2. Show the entire class the two Youtube video clips (approx. 9 & 4
minutes respectively)
3. Ask each of the groups to relate the 8 classic symptoms of groupthink
and have them apply to their specific case (see the chapter for the list).
4. If time allows, have the groups share their responses with the class.
VII. Solutions to End-of-Chapter Questions
1. Describe the kind of values, skills and behaviours you would look for in members of a
virtual team. Explain. Do the same for a self-managed team. Explain. Compare and
contrast your answers. Virtual team members should value autonomy and
contemporary forms of communication. They should be able to self-manage, have a
high internal locus of control and be good communicators via email, social networking
sites or whatever the organization uses for such purposes. They must also be flexible
and understand their role in the process of completing a task. In comparison, the
member of a self-managed team should value active participation in decision making.
This kind of team can make decisions without management intervention, such as:
quality, hiring, firing, discipline, purchasing, goal setting and attainment. . . . the kind of
decisions normally assigned to management. According to the textbook, there is a
growing trend towards more self-managed teams because of a strong cultural bias in
favour of direct participation. There is more push-back from management to endorse
self-managed teams because it suggests shifting management duties to non-managerial
individuals, which can be very threatening. The virtual team concerns revolve around
accountability. Are members working when not in an office setting? This is not the case
with self-managed teams.
2. What is your opinion about managers being friends with people they supervise (in
other words, overlapping formal and informal groups)? (You may want to quickly refer
to the Ethical OB Dilemma in the back of the chapter as a case in point.) It is possible for
managers and/or team leaders to become friends of those they manage – whether in a
team situation or otherwise. Caution should be taken, however, not to make this the
key objective of becoming involved with a team. That is neither the purpose nor role of
the manager. Friendships can evolve over time as trust is developed between those on
the team and those that manage them, but not at the initial point of forming or
norming. Professional behaviour and clear alliances that serve the employer cannot be
blurred or substituted with personal interests that can pop up through friendships.
3. In your personal relationships, how do you come to trust someone? How fragile is that
trust? Explain. Though this is an opinion question, I’ll offer some of my own thoughts
there. Trust occurs in personal relationships over time as situations present themselves

to individuals to prove their behaviour is genuine, not directed to satisfying self-
interests, feelings must appear authentic. As these small tests come to us over time, we
begin to trust others when we see such behaviours demonstrated over and over again
to the point that we can predict future outcomes with confidence. Confidence in
predicting such behaviour leads to greater trust.
4. Why is it important to identify clear goals first to make team-building activities
successful? There has to be some sort of inspiring direction for the members to
visualize within their own minds – a sense of purpose of what they are trying to do.
Otherwise, how will the team know when they have succeeded? Working towards the
same outcome and having that articulated at the outset will allow for behaviours to
align as one; to act as a compass for all behaviour.
5. Have you ever witnessed groupthink or social loafing firsthand? Explain the
circumstances and how things played out. This is an opinion question based on person
experience of the class. If this doesn’t generate the kind of discussion desired, then
introduce the students to the Stanford Prison Experiment (See Google Search #1) it will
show the influence of external influences on personal behaviour.
VIII. Integration of OB Concepts: Discussion Question
1. See Chapter 2 -What role does social perception play in all of the stages of group
development? Consider the perceptual process and possible bias that can occur.
When reviewing Tuckman’s Five-stage theory (Figure 6.2) we can see how the issues
raised at the individual (“Who am I and how do I fit in?), and group levels (“Why are we
here as a group and why are we fighting over who is in charge?”) all relate back to the
social perception model. At each stage, Figure 6.2 has examples of the kind of
perception questions that would apply. Where bias can occur is at the outset – when
the group is being formed; however, of further reflection it becomes more evident that
bias can occur at every stage. For example, at the storming stage, bias can occur over
which agenda items will be addressed. At the norming stage, bias can occur as to which
norms make it to the short list and which are omitted. At the performing stage, bias can
occur as to whether people are indeed performing accordingly . . . or are they slacking?
At the adjourning stage, bias can occur when the decision to disband the group is
decided upon: “Did we reach our goal? Is it over or should the group continue on
longer?”
2. See Chapter 3 -Explain how teamwork may be more difficult for people who have a
certain kind of personality and/or self-concept. Individuals who score low on
extraversion and low on agreeableness (The Big Five Personality) will find it difficult
working in groups because it goes against their natural behaviour preferences. Further,
people with low self-esteem will find it difficult to take criticism from colleagues. There
must be a sense of high self-efficacy that their contributions will make a difference on a
team. People who have a low self-concept will find team activities not very satisfying.

3. See Chapters 4 & 5 -Describe how personal values can affect individual motivation,
especially when it comes to being assigned to work with others in a team-like
atmosphere. If an individual values autonomy and working alone, then placing them
into a team situation will only frustrate them and the team. People cannot be hired
under one condition (working alone) and then placed beside a group of others to work
closely on the job. . . if an individual does not value group behaviour and/or team
membership, then this is not something that can be retrofitted after they’ve been hired.
It is critical to recruit and select potential candidates to work for a company with this
value in mind. There are behavioural event situations that can be created for an
interview that would allow true values to be identified.
IX. Google Searches
These four exercises are wonderful just-in-time learning exercises that are useful in laptop
classrooms. It’s a way of focusing student attention on the topic under discussion. Whenever
possible, encourage the students to complete a Google search while taking notes from class
discussions/lecture. This keeps them on task and discourages them from multi-tasking off topic
onto MSN and other tempting sites. Although Google is the search engine mentioned, any of the
other web browsers such as Bing or Foxfire are certainly good tools to use as well.
Search #1 – The Stanford Prison Experiment is a classic Introduction to a Sociology course case
study that discusses many different factors including how individual behaviour becomes
affected by external influences (the power of context). Which then begs the discussion around
the question: “Are we as individuals solely responsible for our behaviour; or are we influenced
by those people and situations around us?”
Search #2 – “Summer Olympics 2016” or “Winter Olympic 2014_2018” Look for the team sports
only and the Canadian gold winners of these games. What were some of the challenges these
teams faced when preparing for their race? Identify behaviours, values, or skills that made
these athletes a high performing team.
Search #3 – “Canadian Outback Adventures & Events” or “The Great Canadian Adventure
Company” or “Canadian Mudder”. Search the various sites and record five of your favourite
team building retreat/activities. Share your responses with the class.
Search #4 – “Sherif, Asch & Milgram Conformity Studies”. Students find these studies
interesting as it discusses how individual behaviours differ once placed in a social environment.
It’s important that students see the degree of difference in behaviour once an individual is
placed into a situation involving other people. This becomes an even more interesting search as
students are asked to reflect on those situations in their own life that prompted them to
conform during a socialization process . . .and more importantly why they did.

X. Experiential Exercise
This exercise was incorporated in an earlier section as a collaborative classroom exercise during
Part #1. If you haven’t completed this activity with the students yet, then this would be an
interesting time to do so.
XI. OB In Action Case Study
The Cool Box: A Journey From An Informal Group To Formal Design Team
This case is about a couple of young Canadian adults who invented a product and then went
about trying to bring it to market. The journey begins with them as post-secondary students
wanting to develop a new product; the case follows them after graduating during their struggles
for several years and then concludes on the positive reflections the men make about their
design team. This case study was incorporated in an earlier section as a collaborative classroom
exercise during Part #2. If you haven’t completed this activity with the students yet, then this
would be an interesting time to do so.
Here are responses to the discussion questions:
1. Review Fig 6.1 to determine at what point this informal group of friends from Canada
transitioned into a cohesive design team? Explain your reasoning This informal group
of friends were freely interacting at first but evolved into a formal group that shared
common interests, goals and a common identity once they decided upon a common set
of norms to build the prototype toolbox (See Figure 6.1 elements); the point (it could be
argued) where they became a formal group would have to be in 2014, that was the start
of having a common direction/goals.
2. Why do you think Engelo had to ‘arm-twist’ some industry experts to join the group? Is
that what builds an effective team? There is no denying the amount of work involved
when designing a new product - being creative and innovative is motivating and
intriguing but it doesn’t pay the bills. So, for experts to spend their energy towards
something that is only an idea, takes a leap of faith. Because the only real fact guiding
the formation of this team is the reputation and the relationship of those involved . . .
everything else is just an idea on paper. Engolo was probably more convincing than the
new product they were designing . . .the team was likely first formed more around
character, reputation and the charisma of Engolo with the buy in of the product coming
in second place. While ‘arm-twist’ maneuvers are not the best way to start a team, it
did work here; arm-twisting anyone towards any decision can be perceived as coercive,
manipulating and pressure-driven . . . it would be much better to have everyone on the
team feeling the same intrinsic motivation that Engolo is feeling.
3. Review Fig 6.2 and the language of the three co-founders. Identify evidence of a
collective mind-set among the founders A review of the language in the case sheds
light on the collective mind-set they have. For example, “We put thousands of hours .. . .
before we launched the campaign . . .not knowing if we would ever make a dime.” They
were prepared to take the risk together and they shared the same expectations going
into the process.

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4. Identify the role D’Agostini is assuming in the last paragraph of the case – reviewing
Table 6.1 may help your response. D’Agostini is assuming functional roles only. He is
taking on the role of initiator (by suggesting what the group should have to succeed. . .
he’s planting the idea of what is needed); also coordinator (pulling ideas together) and
orienter (keeping the group on track towards achieving their goals). The last
statements are reflective in nature, so it could be said that he is also assuming the role of
evaluator (he’s logical and practical in his thinking). None of the behaviours D’Agostini
exhibits are maintenance in nature.
5. Currently, is there evidence of trust among team members? Explain your answer Living
together in the same house and working together suggests personal trust as the lines are
blurred between their personal lives and their work lives. The fact that they are looking
similar, (beards) suggests a trusting movement towards building a common identity . . .
people wouldn’t mimic one another if they didn’t trust one another. The fact that
they’ve been through difficult times but have stuck it out shows they are committed to
one another and they trust/believe in each other . . .that they will collectively succeed.
Note that there is little mention of financial remuneration at this point of the venture. . .
there is some feeling after reading the case that they are still pooling their funds and
placing all pre-order revenue back into the company. . . this would represent a large level
of mutual trust between the design team. Trust that the collective are making solid
financial decisions that also have an impact on personal careers and future success.
XII. Ethical OB Dilemma
My Boss Wants to “Friend” Me Online
This is a very contemporary case for students to reflect upon. If your boss wants to add you as a
friend to their social network site, what do you do? It can be a very awkward situation and one
that invites a lot of concern. So, after reading this actual case study, there are a few options
presented in terms of what an employer should do if they are experiencing a high degree of
absenteeism on the job. Discuss these with the class and see what the consensus is on this
situation. Note: be sure to read the survey statistic at the end of the case “1,070 were surveyed
– 30% considered their boss a friend”
XIII. Embedded Video(s)
Included within each chapter you will find at least one video embedded directly into the body of
the copy. Here is a summary of the Canadian HR Reporter video along with several discussion
questions w/answers for consideration:
1. “Identifying Toxic Teams In the Workplace” (Canadian HR Reporter) 5:29 min.
Liane Davey, vice-president of team solutions for Knightsbridge, is an expert in
group dynamics and toxic teams. She sat down with Canadian HR Reporter TV to
explain why some toxic teams aren’t that easy to spot.

1. How is a toxic team even more dysfunctional than the average
team?
Answer: According to Liane Davey, toxic teams go beyond being
dysfunctional, just as the term ‘toxic’ implies . . .some experiences
on teams can be negative that they can slowly weigh people down,
and over time affect the productivity of those on the team.
2. What are some of the less obvious ways that teams can become
toxic?
Answer: Davey talks about the ‘bobble-head’ team that appears to
be functioning well, but in fact there is such a lack of diversity of
thought that it’s actually a problem waiting to happen, (i.e little to
no innovation, little risk mitigation). Davey also discusses the
‘spectator’ team which is just a collection of meetings with the boss
– but the danger in this team is found in the lack of unique
perspectives that are being brought to bear on issues and decisions.
(i.e. a lack of collaboration or co-creation as members just do their
own thing and come back to report to the boss what they’ve done).
3. What is the ‘bleeding back’ syndrome according to Davey?
Answer: Basically Davey is referring to the metaphor of stabbing
people in the back – and this behaviour she believes is one of the
most common problems with teams in Canada. Such behaviour is
passive-aggressive in nature, it means we can experience some
decisions being delayed for months or years . . .all the while others
within the organizational team are being subversive and
undermining the efforts of the executives. So, to avoid being
slowed down by inaction due to the gossips/complainers and back-
stabbers, many teams have a tendency to avoid controversial issues
and procrastinating on final decisions.
XIV. Chapter Handout
In order to get the students actively engaged in the materials, sometimes it’s good to assign
them something to do while the class is taking place. On the next page you can find a handout
that can be photocopied, distributed and completed by each student and handed in at the end
of class. You may not want to do this each week, but it’s a good spot quiz type of exercise that
can be used for bonus or participation marks for one particular class.

Student Name & Number: _________________________________________
Chapter #6 Handout
Key Term Definitions & Application of OB to the World of Work
Key Term Definition (check off)
Term Was
Referred To
During Class
Group
cohesiveness
Self-Managed
Team
Virtual Team
Trust
Team Building
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Applying OB Concepts to the World of Work:
Write a ____ word reflection on how the concepts discussed in this chapter relate to:
• improving our understanding of others in the workplace
• increasing employee productivity

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“He is with his regiment in Burmah.”
“Do you expect him home soon?”
“Not very soon; not for six months, or perhaps longer. It was
that which made me walk so far.”
Lostwithiel looked puzzled.
“I mean that I was so disappointed by his letter—a letter I
received to-day—that I went out for a long ramble to walk
down my bad spirits, and hardly knew how far I was going.
It has made me inflict trouble on you, and Mrs.——”
“Mayne. Both Mrs. Mayne and I are delighted to be of use to
you. Order the station brougham, Dalton, immediately,” to
the man who answered his bell. “The carriage can hardly
be ready in less than twenty minutes, so pray try to do
justice to Mrs. Mayne’s tea.”
“It is delicious tea,” said Isola, enjoying the fire-glow, and the
dancing lights upon the richly bound books in all their
varieties of colouring, from black and crimson and orange-
tawny to vellum diapered with gold.
She was evidently relieved in her mind by the knowledge that
she was to be driven home presently.
“If you are really interested in this old house you must come
some sunny morning and let Mrs. Mayne show you over it,”
said Lostwithiel, establishing himself with his cup and
saucer upon the other side of the hearth. “She knows all
the old stories, and she has a better memory than I.”
“I should like so much to do so next summer, when my husband
can come with me.”
“I’m afraid Major Disney won’t care much about the old place.
He is a native of these parts, and must have been here
often in my father’s time. I shall hope to receive you both,
if I am here next October for the shooting—but there is no

need to postpone your inspection of the house to the
remote future. Come on the first fine morning that you
have nothing better to do. Mrs. Mayne is always at home;
and I am almost always out of doors in the morning. You
can have the house to yourselves, and talk about ghosts to
your hearts’ content.”
“Oh, my lord, I hope I know better than to say anything
disrespectful of the house,” protested Mrs. Mayne.
“My dear Mayne, a family ghost is as respectable an institution
as a family tree.”
Isola murmured some vague acknowledgment of his civility. She
was far too shy to have any idea of taking advantage of his
offer. To re-enter that house alone of her own accord would
be impossible. By-and-by, with her husband at her side, she
would be bold enough to do anything, to accept any
hospitality that Lostwithiel might be moved to offer. He
would invite Martin, perhaps, for the shooting, or to a
luncheon, or a dinner. She wondered vaguely if she would
ever possess a gown good enough to wear at a dinner-
party in such a house.
After this there came a brief silence. Mrs. Mayne stood straight
and prim behind the tea-table. Nothing would have induced
her to sit in his lordship’s presence, albeit she had dandled
him in her arms when there was much less of him than of
the cambric and fine flannel which composed his raiment,
and albeit his easy familiarity might have invited some
forgetfulness of class distinctions. Mrs. Mayne fully
understood that she was wanted there to set the stranger
at her ease, and she performed her mission; but even her
presence could not lessen Isola’s shyness. She felt like a
bird caught in a net, or fluttering in the grasp of some
strong but kindly hand. She sat listening for carriage
wheels, and only hearing the dull thumping of her own
scared heart.

And yet he was so kind, and yet he so fully realized her idea of
high-bred gentleness, that she need hardly have been so
troubled by the situation. She stole a glance at him as he
stood by the chimney-piece, in a thoughtful attitude,
looking down at the burning logs on the massive old
andirons. The firelight shining on a face above it will often
give a sinister look to the openest countenance; and to-
night Lostwithiel’s long, narrow face, dark, deep-set eyes,
and pointed beard had some touch of the diabolical in that
red and uncertain glow; an effect that was but
instantaneous, for as the light changed the look passed,
and she saw him as he really was, with his pale and
somewhat sunken cheeks, and eyes darkly grave, of
exceeding gentleness.
“Have you lived long at the Angler’s Nest, Mrs. Disney?” he
asked.
“Nearly a year and a half; ever since my marriage, with just one
interval on the Continent before Martin went to India.”
“Then I need not ask if you are heartily sick of the place?”
“Indeed, I should not be tired of the cottage or the
neighbourhood if my husband were at home. I am only
tired of solitude. He wants me to send for his sister—a girl
who has not long left school—to keep me company; but I
detest school-girls, and I would much rather be alone than
put up with a silly companion.”
“You are wise beyond your years, Mrs. Disney. Avoid the sister,
by all means. She would bore you to death—a scampering,
exuberant girl, who would develop hysteria after one month
of Cornish dulness. Besides, I am sure you have resources
of your own, and that you would rather endure solitude
than uncongenial company.”
Isola sighed, and shook her head rather dolefully, tracing the
pattern of the Persian rug with the point of her stick.

“I am very fond of books, and of music,” she said; “but one gets
tired of being alone after a time. It seems such ages since
Martin and I said good-bye in Venice. I was dreadfully
unhappy at first. I stand almost alone in the world, when I
am parted from him.”
“Your father and mother are dead?” in gentlest inquiry.
“Oh no; they are not dead; they are at Dinan,” she said, almost
as if it were the same thing.
“And that is very far from Trelasco.”
“They never leave Dinan. The kind of life suits them. Mamma
knits; papa has his club and his English newspapers. People
enjoy the English papers so much more when they live
abroad than when they are at home. Mamma is a very bad
sailor. It would be a risk for her to cross. If my sister or I
were dangerously ill, mamma would come. But it would be
at the hazard of her life. Papa has often told me so.”
“And your father, is he a bad sailor?”
“He is rather worse than mamma.”
“Then I conclude you were married at Dinan?”
“Oh yes; I never left Brittany until my wedding-day.”
“What a pretty idea! It is as if Major Disney had found a new
kind of wild flower in some cranny of the old grey wall that
guards the town.”
“You know Dinan?”
“There are very few places within easy reach of a yachtsman
that I don’t know. I have anchored in almost every bay
between Cherbourg and Brest, and have rambled inland
whenever there was anything worth seeing within a day’s
journey from the coast. Yes, I know Dinan well. Strange to
think that I may have passed you in the street there. Do
you sketch, by the way?”

“A little.”
“Ah, then, perhaps you are one of the young ladies I have seen
sitting at street corners, or under archways, doing fearful
and wonderful things with a box of moist colours and a
drawing-board.”
“The young ladies who sit about the streets are tourists,” said
Isola, with a look of disgust.
“I understand. The resident ladies would no more do such
things than they would sit upon the pavement and make
pictures of salmon or men-of-war in coloured chalks, like
our Metropolitan artists.”
“I think I hear a carriage,” said Isola, putting down her cup and
saucer, and looking at her jacket, which Mrs. Mayne was
holding before the fire.
“Yes, that is the carriage,” answered Lostwithiel, opening the
glass door. “What a night! The rain is just as bad as it was
when I brought you indoors.”
“If you will accept the use of a shawl, ma’am, it would be safer
than putting on this damp jacket.”
“Yes, Mayne, get your shawl. Mrs. Disney will wear it, I know.”
The housekeeper bustled out, and Lostwithiel and his guest
were alone, looking at each other somewhat helplessly, as
they stood far apart, she in the glow of the hearth, he in
the darkness near the door, and feeling that every available
subject of conversation had been exhausted. Their
embarrassment was increased when Dalton and a footman
came in with two great lamps and flooded the room with
light.
“I hardly know how to thank you for having taken so much
trouble about me,” Isola faltered presently, under that
necessity to say something which is one of the marks of
shyness.

“There has been no trouble. I only hope I got you out of that
pelting rain in time to save you from any evil consequences.
Strange that our acquaintance should begin in such an
accidental manner. I shall be glad to know more of Major
Disney when he comes home, and in the meantime I hope
I shall have the pleasure of meeting you sometimes. No
doubt you know everybody in the neighbourhood, so we
can hardly help running against each other somewhere.”
Isola smiled faintly, thinking that the chances of any such
meeting were of the slightest; but she did not gainsay him.
He wanted to say something courteous no doubt, and had
gone into no nice question of probabilities before he spoke.
She had heard him described by a good many people, who
had hinted darkly at his shortcomings, but had all agreed as
to his politeness and persuasive powers.
“A man who would talk over Satan himself,” said the village
lawyer.
Mrs. Mayne reappeared with a comfortable Scotch plaid, which
she wrapped carefully about Mrs. Disney, in a pleasant,
motherly fashion. The rain had all been shaken off the little
felt hat, which had no feathers or frippery to spoil. People
who live in the west of England make their account with
wet weather.
Lord Lostwithiel handed his guest into the carriage, and stood
bareheaded in the rain to wish her good-bye before he shut
the door.
“I shall be very anxious to know that you have escaped cold,”
he said, at the last moment. “I hope you won’t think me a
nuisance if I call to-morrow to inquire.”
He shut the door quickly, and the brougham drove off before
she could answer. She was alone in the darkness in the
snug, warm little carriage. There was a clock ticking beside
her, a sound that startled her in the stillness. There was a

basket hanging in front of her, and an odour of cigars and
Russia leather. There was a black bear rug, lined with white
fleeciness, which almost filled the carriage. She had never
sat in such a carriage. How different from the mouldy old
brougham in which she occasionally went to dinner-parties
—a capacious vehicle with a bow window, like a seaside
parlour!
She leant back in a corner of the little carriage, wrapped in the
soft, warm rug, wondering at her strange adventure. She
had penetrated that mysterious house on Black-fir Hill, and
she had made the acquaintance of Lord Lostwithiel. How
much she would have to tell Martin in her next letter! She
wrote to him every week—a long, loving letter, closely
written on thin paper, pouring out all her fancies and
feelings to the husband she loved with all her heart.
She sighed as her thoughts recurred to the letter received to-
day. Six months, or perhaps even a year, before he was to
come back to her! Yet the letter had not been without
hopefulness. He had the prospect of getting his next step
before that year was over, and then his coming home would
be a final return. He would be able to retire, and he would
buy some land—a hundred acres or so—and breed horses—
one of his youthful dreams—and do a little building,
perhaps, to enlarge and beautify the Angler’s Nest, and his
Isola should have a pair of ponies and a good saddle-horse.
He looked forward to a life of unalloyed happiness.
CHAPTER II.
“BUT THE DAYS DROP ONE BY ONE.”
Next morning was fine, a morning so bright and balmy that the
month might have been mistaken for September. Isola ran

down to the garden in her neat little morning frock and
linen collar, and ran about among the shrubs and autumn
flowers in a much gayer mood than that of yesterday. She
loved her garden—small and modest as it was in
comparison with the grounds and gardens of her county
neighbours—and on a morning like this it was rapture to
her to run from flower to flower, and from shrub to shrub,
with her great garden scissors in her hand, and her garden
basket hanging over her arm, clipping a withered leaf or a
fading flower every here and there, or plucking up those
little groundsel plants which seem the perpetual expression
of the earth’s fertility.
Alas! those pale tea-roses, those sulphur and flame-coloured
dahlias, meant the last crumbs of summer’s plenteous
feast. Soon winter and barrenness would spread over the
poor little garden; but even in the chill dark heart of mid-
winter those graceful conifers and shining laurels, the
vermilion on the holly bushes, the crimson of the hawthorn
berries would give beauty to the scene; and then would
come the return of Persephone with her hands full of gold,
the abundant gold of crocus and daffodil, jonquil and pale
primrose, the rain of yellow blossoms which heralds the
spring.
Half a year did not seem such an appalling interval—nay, even
the thought of a year of waiting did not scare her so much
this morning in the sunlight and fresh clear air as yesterday
in the grey dim rain. What an improvement Martin would
find in the garden, should he return before the end of the
summer! How tall those Irish yews had grown by the gate
yonder, a pair of dark green obelisks keeping stately guard
over the modest wooden gate; and the escalonia hedge
that screened the kitchen garden was two feet higher since
the spring! How the juniper at the corner of the grass plot
had shot up and thickened! Arbutus, laurel, ribes,
everything had been growing as shrubs only grow in the

south and south-west of England. What a darling garden it
was, and how full of pleasure her life would be by-and-by,
when Martin was able to settle down and buy land, and
give her a little herd of Jersey cows! She had always envied
the farmers’ wives in that fertile valley of the Rance, where
her childhood had been passed. And how delightful to have
her own cows and her own farmyard, and a pony-carriage
to drive up and down the hilly Cornish lanes and into the
narrow little street of Fowey, and to ride her own horse by
her husband’s side for long exploring rambles among those
wild hills towards Mevagissey!
She had only to wait patiently for a year or less, and that bright
life might be hers. She had no frivolous vanities, no craving
for dissipations and fine clothes, no fatal thirst for
“smartness.” Her ideas were essentially modest. She had
never envied her sister, who had married a rich stockbroker,
and whose brand new red-brick house in Hans Place
towered above surrounding Chelsea as much as her
diamonds eclipsed the jewels of other middle-class matrons
at the festal gatherings of South Kensington and Bayswater.
Gwendolen had married for wealth. Isola had married for
love. She had given her girlish affection to a man who was
nearly thirty years her senior, her heart going out to him
almost at the beginning of their acquaintance, first because
he was a soldier, and in her mind a hero, and secondly
because he was kinder to her than anybody else had ever
been.
He was her first admirer. That delicate loveliness, as of some
woodland flower, which distinguished Isola from the herd of
women, had been still in embryo when Major Disney spent
a summer holiday between Dinard and Dinan. She had
scarcely ranked as a pretty girl two years ago. The slight
figure was denounced as scraggy; the pale face was voted
sickly; and the delicate features were spoken of as
insignificant. Gwendolen’s big fair face, with its healthy

roses and lilies, her bright hair, and well-developed figure,
had completely overshadowed the younger sister. Martin
Disney was the first man upon whom Isola’s low-toned
beauty had any power. He was drawn to her from the very
beginning. She listened so prettily, with such a bewitching
modesty and almost tremulous pleasure, when he talked to
her, as they sat side by side on the club ground at Dinard,
watching Gwendolen playing tennis, superb in striped
flannel of delicate pink and cream colour. He could hardly
believe that those two were sisters. Isola was so slim and
fragile, of such an ethereal prettiness, owing so little to
colouring, and nothing to redundancy of form.
He was told that Miss Manwaring was engaged to one of the
richest men in London. That, of course, was a gossip’s
fable, but it was an established fact that Mr. Hazelrigg had
made his fortune in South American railways, water-works,
and other public improvements, and could afford to make a
liberal settlement.
He showed no indisposition to be generous to his handsome
sweetheart. He settled seven hundred a year upon her, and
told her that she could spend as much of that income as
she liked upon toilet and pocket-money, and that he would
invest her surplus advantageously for her.
The two sisters were married on the same day to husbands who
were their seniors by more than twenty years in one
instance, by thirty years in the other. Daniel Hazelrigg had
passed his jubilee birthday when he led Miss Manwaring to
the altar; but he was a fine-looking man, straight and tall,
like his bride, with a ruddy complexion and iron-grey
moustache, and an air and bearing that savoured rather of
the mess-room than the city. He had been on the Stock
Exchange ever since he came of age; but he had made it
the study of his life not to look city or to talk city. Nothing
could tempt him to expatiate upon the money market

outside his office. He would talk sport, travel, politics—even
literature, of which he knew very little—but not stocks and
shares, Nicaraguas, or Reading and Philadelphias, Mexican
Street Railways, or Patagonian Building Society.
Isola read her sister’s glowing descriptions of dinners and routs,
gowns by Worth or Cresser, suppers for two hundred
people at a guinea a head, from Gunter, waggon-loads of
cut roses from Cheshunt or Cheam, and felt no thrill of
longing, no pang of envy. Life in the Angler’s Nest might be
dull; but it was only dull because Martin was away. She
would have felt more solitary in Hans Place, had she
accepted Gwendolen’s invitation to spend her Christmas
there, than she would feel in the cottage by the river, even
with no better company than Tabitha, Shah, and Tim. She
was essentially shy and retiring. Her girlhood had been
spent in a very narrow world, among people whom she
seemed to have known all her life; for while Gwendolen,
who was six years older, and had been “out” for four years
before she married, joined in all the little gaieties of the
place, and was always making new acquaintance, Isola,
who was not “out,” spent her days for the most part in a
half-neglected garden on the slope of the hill that looks
across the Rance towards the unseen sea. The view from
that garden was one of the finest in Western France; and it
was Isola’s delight to sit in a little berceau at the end of a
terrace walk, with her books and work-basket and drawing-
board, all through the long tranquil summer day, in a
silence broken by the sound of wheels and horses’ feet on
the viaduct and bridge two or three hundred feet below, or
by the muffled music of the organ in the convent chapel.
Tim, the fox-terrier, and Shah, the Persian cat, were both on the
lawn with their mistress this morning. They were not

friendly towards each other, but preserved an armed
neutrality. Tim chased every stray strange cat with a fury
that threatened annihilation; and he always looked as if he
would like to give chase to Shah, when that dignified piece
of fluff moved slowly across the lawn before him with
uplifted tail that seemed to wave defiance; but he knew
that any attack upon that valued personage would entail
punishment and disgrace. Isola loved both these animals—
the cat a wedding-present from an old Breton lady in
Dinan, the terrier her husband’s parting legacy. “Take care
of Tim,” he had said, the day they parted on board the
steamer at Venice.
The dog loved his mistress vehemently and obtrusively, leaping
into her lap at the slightest sign of indulgence in her eye.
The cat suffered himself to be adored, receiving all
attentions with a sleepy complacency.
It was only half-past eight, and the world was looking its
freshest. There was an opening in the shrubbery that let in
a view of the river, and just in front of this opening there
was a rustic bench on which Major Disney liked to smoke
his after-breakfast pipe or after-dinner cigar. The garden
contained very little over two acres, but it was an old
garden, and there were some fine old trees, which must
have shaded hoops and powder, and pig-tails and knee-
breeches. Major Disney had done a great deal in the way of
planting wherever there was room for improvement, and he
had secured to himself an elderly gardener of exceptional
industry, who worked in the garden as if he loved it.
Tabitha, again, was one of those wonderful women who
know all about everything except books; and she, too,
loved the garden, and helped at weeding and watering, in
seasons of pressure. Thus it had come to pass that these
two acres of velvet lawn and flower-bed, shrubbery, and
trim, old-fashioned garden had acquired a reputation in

Trelasco, and people frequently complimented Mrs. Disney
about her garden.
She was proud of their praises, remembering the straggling
rose-bushes and lavender, and unkempt flower-beds, and
overgrown cabbages, and loose shingly paths in that old
garden at Dinan, which she had loved despite its neglected
condition. Her house at Trelasco was just as superior to the
house at Dinan, as garden was to garden. She often
thought of her old home, the shabby square house, with
walls and shutters of dazzling white, shining brown floors,
and worn-out furniture of the Empire period, furniture
which had been shabby and out of repair when Colonel
Manwaring took the house furnished, intending to spend a
month or two in retirement at Dinan with his wife and her
firstborn, a chubby little girl of five. They had lost a
promising boy of a year old, and the colonel, having no
reason for living anywhere in particular, and very little to
live upon, thought that residence in a foreign country would
improve his wife’s health and spirits. He had been told that
Dinan was picturesque and cheap: and he had put himself
and his family on board the St. Malo steamer and had gone
out like an emigrant to push his fortunes in a strange land.
He had even an idea that he might get “something to do” in
Dinan—a secretaryship of a club, an agency, or managerial
post of some kind, never having cultivated the art of self-
examination so far as to discover that he must have proved
utterly incapable, had any such occasion presented itself.
The occasion never did present itself. The one English club
existent at Dinan in those days was amply provided with
the secretarial element. There was nothing in Dinan for an
Englishman to manage; no English agency required.
Colonel Manwaring settled down into a kind of somnolent
submission to obscure fortunes. He liked the old town, and
he liked the climate. He liked the cooking, and he liked
being out of the way of all the people he knew, and whose

vicinity would have obliged him to live up to a certain
conventional level. He liked to get his English newspapers
upon French soil, and it irked him not that they were thirty-
six hours old. He liked to bask in the sunshine on the
terrace above the Rance, or in the open places of the town.
He liked talking of the possibilities of an impending war, in
very dubious French, with the French officers, whose
acquaintance he made at club or café. He had sold his
commission and sunk the proceeds of the sale upon an
annuity. He had a little income of his own, and his wife had
a little money from a maiden aunt, and these resources just
enabled him to live with a certain unpretending comfort. He
had a good Breton cook, and an old Scotch valet and butler,
who would have gone through fire and water for his master.
Mrs. Manwaring was a thoroughly negative character, placid
as summer seas, sympathetic and helpless. She let
Macgregor and Antoinette manage the house for her, do all
the catering, pay all the bills, and work the whole
machinery of her domestic life. She rejoiced in having a
good-tempered husband and obedient daughters. She had
no boys to put her in a fever of anxiety lest they should be
making surreptitious ascents in balloons or staking their
little all upon Zero at the “Etablissement” at Dinard. In
summer she sat all day in one particular south window,
knitting stockings for the colonel and reading the English
papers. In winter she occupied herself in the same manner
by the chimney corner. She devoted one day in the week to
writing long letters to distant relatives. Once a day, weather
permitting, she took a gentle constitutional walk upon the
terrace above the Rance, with one of her daughters.
Needless to say that in this life of harmless apathy she had
grown very stout, and that she had forgotten almost every
accomplishment of her girlhood.
From the placid monotony of life in Brittany to the placid
monotony of life in Cornwall, was not a startling transition;

yet when she married Martin Disney, and bade her
commonplace father and her apathetic mother good-bye,
Isola felt as if she had escaped from stagnation into a fresh
and vigorous atmosphere. Disney’s character made all the
difference. He was every inch a soldier, a keen politician, a
man who had seen many countries and read many books,
clear-brained, strong-willed, energetic, self-reliant. She felt
what it was to belong to somebody who was capable of
taking care of her. She trusted him implicitly; and she loved
him with as deep a love as a girl of nineteen is capable of
feeling for any lover. It may be that the capacity for deep
feeling is but half developed at that age, and in that one
fact may be found the key to many domestic mysteries;
mysteries of unions which begin in the gladness and
warmth of responsive affection, and which, a few years
later, pass into a frozen region of indifference or are
wrecked on sunken rocks of guilty passion. Certain it was
that Isola Manwaring gave her hand to this grave, middle-
aged soldier, in all the innocence of a first love; and the
love with which he rewarded her confidence, the earnest
watchful love of a man of mature years, was enough for
her happiness. That honeymoon time, that summer of
installation in the Cornish cottage, and then the leisurely
journey to Venice in the waning brilliance of a southern
October, seemed like one long happy dream, as she looked
back upon it now, after a year of solitude.
The doctor had decided that, in the delicate health in which she
found herself at the end of that summer, it would be
dangerous for her to accompany her husband to India,
more especially as a campaign in Burmah meant roughing
it, and she would in all probability have been separated
from him in the East; so they bade each other a sad good-
bye at Venice, and Isola travelled quickly homeward, all
possible comfort having been secured for her on the way,
by her husband’s forethought. It had been a long, sad,

sleepy journey, through a rain-blurred landscape, and she
was glad when the evening of the fourth day brought her to
the snug little dining-room in the Angler’s Nest, where
Tabitha was waiting for her with a cheerful fire and the
amber-shaded reading lamp, and the most delightful little
composite meal of chicken and tongue, and tart, and
cream, and tea. It was pleasant to be among familiar
things, after that long journey in stuffy ladies’ carriages,
with elderly invalids, whose chief talk was of their ailments.
Pleasant to see the Shah’s solemn sea-green eyes staring at
her, and to have to repulse the demonstrative attentions of
Tim, who leapt upon her lap and licked her face vehemently
every time he caught her off her guard.
She was ill and broken down after her journey, and that sad
parting, and she hid her tears upon Tabitha’s comfortable
arm.
“It will be at least a year before he comes back,” she sobbed.
“How can I live without him all that dreary time?”
Tabitha thought it was very hard upon the girl-wife, but affected
to make light of it. “Lor, bless you, ma’am,” she said, “a
year looks a long time, but it isn’t much when you come to
grapple with it. There’ll be such a lot for you to do. There’ll
be the garden. We ought to make ever so many
improvements next spring and summer, against the master
comes home. And there’s your piano. You want to improve
yourself—I’ve heard you say so—and you can get up all
sorts of new tunes, and won’t the major be pleased with
you; and then—there’ll be something else to occupy your
mind before next summer comes.”
That “something else” which was to have filled Isola’s empty life
with a new interest, ended in disappointment. She was very
ill at the beginning of the new year, and Tabitha nursed her
with motherly tenderness long after the doctor and the
professional nurse had renounced their care of her. She

regained strength very slowly after that serious illness, and
it was only in June that she was able to take the lonely
rambles she loved, or row in her little boat upon the river.
Tabitha was a servant in a thousand, faithful and devoted,
clever, active, and industrious. She had been maid to Martin
Disney’s mother for nearly fifteen years, had nursed her
mistress through a long and weary illness, and had closed
her eyes in death. Martin parted with that faithful servant
with reluctance after the breaking up of his mother’s
household, and he told her if he should marry and have a
house of his own—a very remote contingency—she must be
his housekeeper. Love and marriage came upon him before
the end of the year, as a delightful surprise. He bought the
Angler’s Nest, and he engaged Tabitha for the rest of her
life, at wages which, beginning at a liberal figure, were to
rise a pound every Christmas.
“As if I cared about wages, Mr. Martin,” exclaimed Tabitha. “I’d
just as soon come to you for nothing. I’ve got more clothes
than will last my time, I’ll be bound. You’d only have to find
me in shoe-leather.”
She had never got out of the way of calling her master by the
name by which she had first known him, when his father
and elder brother were both at home, in the old family
house at Fowey. In all moments of forgetfulness he was still
“Mr. Martin.”
And now, in this bright November morning, Tabitha came out to
say that breakfast was waiting for her young mistress, and
mistress and maid went in together to the cosy dining-
room, where the small round table near the window was
arranged as only Tabitha could arrange a table—with
autumn flowers, and spotless damask, and a new-laid egg,

and a dish of honey, and some dainty little rolls of Tabitha’s
own making, nestling in a napkin, a breakfast for a Princess
in a fairy tale.
There was only one other servant in the little household—a
bouncing, rosy-cheeked Cornish girl, who was very
industrious under Tabitha’s eye, and very idle when she was
out of that faithful housekeeper’s ken. Tabitha cooked and
took care of everything, and for the most part waited upon
her mistress in this time of widowhood, although Susan
was supposed to be parlour-maid.
Tabitha poured out the tea, and buttered a roll, while Isola leant
back in the bamboo chair and played with the Shah.
“I never knew him do such a thing before,” said Tabitha, in
continuation of a theme which had been fully discussed last
night.
“Oh, it was very kind and polite; but it was not such a
tremendous thing, after all,” answered Isola, still occupied
with the Persian. “He could hardly stand by and see one
drowned. You have no idea what the rain was like.”
“But to send you home in his own carriage.”
“There was nothing else for him to do—except send me home in
the gardener’s cart. He could not have turned out a dog in
such weather.”
“It’s a thing that never happened before, and it just shows what
a respect he must have for the Disneys. You don’t know
how stand-offish he is with all the people about here—how
he keeps himself to himself. Not a bit like his father and
mother. They used to entertain all the neighbourhood, and
they went everywhere, as affable as you like. He has taken
care to show people that he doesn’t want their company.
They say he has led a very queer kind of life at home and
abroad; never settling down anywhere, here to-day and
gone to-morrow; roving about with his yacht. I don’t

believe any good ever comes of a young gentleman like
that having a yacht. It would be ever so much better for
him to live at the Mount and keep a pack of harriers.”
“Why should a yacht be bad?” asked Isola, lazily beginning her
breakfast, Tabitha standing by the table all the time, ready
for conversation.
“Oh, I don’t know. It gives a young man too much liberty,”
answered Tabitha, shaking her head with a meaning air, as
if with a knowledge of dark things in connection with
yachts. “He can keep just what company he likes on board
—gentlemen or ladies. He can gamble—or drink—as much
as he likes. There’s nobody to check him. Sundays and
weekdays, night and day, are all alike to him.”
“Lord Lostwithiel is not particularly young,” said Isola, musingly,
not paying much attention to this homily on yachts. “He
must be thirty, I think.”
“Thirty-two last birthday. He ought to marry and settle down.
They say he’s very clever, and that he’s bound to make a
figure in politics some of these odd days.”
Isola looked at the clock on the chimney-piece—a gilt horse-
shoe with onyx nails; one of her wedding presents. It was
early yet—only half-past nine. Lord Lostwithiel had talked
about calling to inquire after her health. She felt
overpowered with shyness at the thought of seeing him
again, alone—with no stately Mrs. Mayne to take the edge
off a tête-à-tête. Anything to escape such an ordeal! There
was her boat—that boat of which she was perfect mistress,
and in which she went for long, dawdling expeditions
towards Fowey or Lostwithiel with only Tim for her
companion—Tim, who was the best of company, in almost
perpetual circulation between stem and stern, balancing
himself in perilous places every now and then, to bark

furiously at imaginary foes in slowly passing fishermen’s
boats.
“Have you any fancy about lunch, ma’am?” asked Tabitha,
lingering with feather-brush in hand over a side-table, on
which work-basket, books, writing-case, and flower-vases
were arranged with tasteful neatness by those skilful
hands.
“No, you dear old Tabbie; you know that anything will do for
me. Bread and jam, if you like, and some of your clotted
cream. Won’t it be nice when we have our very own dairy,
and our very own cows, who will know us and be fond of
us, like Tim and the Shah?”
She put on her hat and jacket, and went out into the garden
again, singing “La Lettre de Perichole” as she went. It was
a capital idea to take refuge in her boat. If his lordship
should call—which was doubtful—since he might be one of
that numerous race of people whose days are made up of
unfulfilled intentions and promises never realized—if he
should call, she would be far away when he came. He
would make his inquiry, leave his card, which would look
nice in the old Indian bowl on the hall-table. Such cards
have a power of flotation unknown to other pasteboard;
they are always at the top.
Isola went to the little boat-house on the edge of the lawn, Tim
following her. She pushed the light skiff down the slope into
the water, and in a few minutes more her sculls were in the
rowlocks and she was moving slowly up the river, between
autumnal woods, in a silence broken only by the dip of the
sculls and the little rippling sound as the water dropped
away from them. A good deal of her life was spent like this,
moving slowly up the river through that deep silence of the
woodland shores. The river was as beautiful as the Dart
almost, but lonelier and more silent. It was Martin Disney’s
river—the river whose ripples had soothed his mother’s

dying ears—the last of all earthly sounds that had been
heard in the stillness of the death-chamber.
In that tranquil atmosphere Isola used to dream of her absent
husband and of that mystical world of the East which
seemed made up of dreams—the world of Brahma and
Buddha, of jewel-bedecked Rajahs and Palace-tombs—
world of beauty and of terror; of tropical forests, tigers,
orchids, serpents, elephants, Thugs.
She dreamt her dream of that strange world in fear and
trembling, conjuring up scenes of horror—tiger hunts;
snakes hidden in the corner of a tent; battle; fever; fire;
mutiny. Her morbid imagination pictured all possible and
impossible danger for the man she loved. And then she
thought of his home-coming—for good, for good—for all
the span of their joint lives; and she longed for that return
with the sickness of hope deferred.
She would go back to the Angler’s Nest sometimes after one of
these dreamy days upon the river, and would pace about
the house or the garden, planning things for her husband’s
return, as if he were due next day. She would wheel his
own particular chair to the drawing-room fireplace, and look
at it, and arrange the fall of the curtains before the old-
fashioned bow-window, and change the position of the
lamp, and alter the books on the shelves, and do this and
that with an eye to effect, anxious to discover how the
room might be made prettiest, cosiest, most lovable and
home-like—for him, for him, for him!
And now she had to resign herself to a year’s delay, perhaps.
Yes, he had said it might be a year. All that bright picture of
union and content, which had seemed so vivid and so near,
had now grown dim and pale. It had melted into a shadowy
distance. To a girl who has but just passed her twentieth
birthday a year of waiting and delay seems an eternity.

“I won’t think of him,” she said to herself, plunging her sculls
fiercely into the rippling water. The tide was running down,
and it was strong enough to have carried her little boat out
to sea like an autumn leaf swept along the current. “I must
try to lull my mind to sleep, as if I were an enchanted
Princess, and so bridge over twelve slow months of
loneliness. I won’t think of you, Martin, my good, brave,
truest of the true! I’ll occupy my poor, foolish little mind. I’ll
write a novel, perhaps, like old Miss Carver at Dinan.
Anything in the world—just to keep my thoughts from
always brooding on one subject.”
She rowed on steadily, hugging the shore under the wooded
hillside, where the rich autumn colouring and the clear, cool
lights were so full of beauty—a beauty which she could feel,
with a vague, dim sense which just touched the realm of
poetry. Perhaps she felt the same sense of loss which Keats
or Alfred de Musset would have felt in the stillness of such
a scene—the want of something to people the wood and
the river—some race of beings loftier than fishermen and
peasants; some of those mystic forms which the poet sees
amidst the shadows of old woods or in the creeks and
sheltered inlets of a secluded river.
She thought, with a half-smile, of yesterday’s adventure. What
importance that foolish Tabitha gave to so simple an
incident; the merest commonplace courtesy, necessitated
by circumstances; and only because the person who had
been commonly courteous was Richard Hulbert, thirteenth
Baron Lostwithiel. Thirteenth Baron! There lay the
distinction. These Cornish folks worshipped antique lineage.
Tabitha would have thought very little of a mushroom
peer’s civility, although he had sent her mistress home in a
chariot and four. She was no worshipper of wealth, and she
turned up her blunt old nose at Mr. Crowther, of Glenaveril
—the great new red-brick mansion which had sprung up
like a fungus amidst the woods only yesterday—because he

had made his money in trade, albeit his trade had been
upon a large scale, and altogether genteel and worthy to
be esteemed—a great cloth factory at Stroud, which was
said to have clad half the army at one period of modern
history.
Poor, foolish Tabitha! What would she have thought of the tea-
drinking in that lovely old room, mysteriously beautiful in
the light of a wood fire—the playful, uncertain light which
glorifies everything? What would she have thought of those
walls of books—richly bound books, books in sombre
brown, big books and little books, from floor to ceiling? A
room which made those poor little oak bookcases in the
cottage parlour something to blush for. What would Tabitha
have thought of his deferential kindness—that tone of
deepest consideration with which such men treat all
women, even the old and uncomely? She could hardly have
helped admiring his good manners, whatever dark things
she might have been told about his earlier years.
Why should he not have a yacht? It seemed the fittest life for a
man without home ties; a man still young, and with no
need to labour at a profession. What better life could there
be than that free wandering from port to port over a
romantic sea?—and to Isola all seas were alike mysterious
and romantic.
She dawdled away the morning; she sculled against the stream
for nearly three hours, and then let her boat drift down the
river to the garden above the towpath. It was long past her
usual time for luncheon when she moored her boat to the
little wooden steps, leaving it for Thomas, the gardener, to
pull up into the boat-house. She had made up her mind
that if Lostwithiel troubled himself to make any inquiry
about her health he would call in the morning.
She had guessed rightly. Tabitha was full of his visit, and his
wondrous condescension. He had called at eleven o’clock,

on his way to the railway station at Fowey. He called in the
most perfect of T carts, with a pair of bright bays. Tabitha
had opened the door to him. He had asked quite anxiously
about Mrs. Disney’s health. He had walked round the
garden with Tabitha and admired everything, and had told
her that Major Disney had a better gardener than any he
had at the Mount, after which he had left her charmed by
his amiability. And so this little episode in Isola’s life came
to a pleasant end, leaving no record but his lordship’s card,
lying like a jewel on the top of less distinguished names in
the old Indian bowl.
CHAPTER III.
“OH MOMENT ONE AND INFINITE!”
Isola fancied that her adventure was all over and done with
after that ceremonious call of inquiry; but in so narrow a
world as that of Trelasco it was scarcely possible to have
seen the last of a man who lived within three miles; and
she and Lord Lostwithiel met now and then in the course of
her solitary rambles. The walk into Fowey, following the old
disused railway, was almost her favourite, and one which
she had occasion to take oftener than any other, since
Tabitha was a stay-at-home person, and expected her
young mistress to do all the marketing, so that Isola had
usually some errand to take her into the narrow street on
the hillside above the sea. It was at Fowey that she
oftenest met Lostwithiel. His yacht, the Vendetta, was in
the harbour under repairs, and he went down to look at the
work daily, and often dawdled upon the deck till dusk,
watching the carpenters, or talking to his captain. They had
been half over the world together, master and man, and

were almost as familiar as brothers. The crew were half
English and half foreign; and it was a curious mixture of
languages in which Lostwithiel talked to them. They were
most of them old hands on board the Vendetta, and would
have stood by the owner of the craft if he had wanted to
sail her up the Phlegethon.
She was a schooner of two hundred and fifty tons, built for
speed, and with a rakish rig. She had cost, with her fittings,
her extra silk sails for racing, more money than Lostwithiel
cared to remember; but he loved her as a man loves his
mistress, and if she were costly and exacting, she was no
worse than other mistresses, and she was true as steel,
which they are not always; and so he felt that he had
money’s worth in her. He showed her to Isola one evening
from the promontory above the harbour, where she met
him in the autumn sundown. Her work at the butcher’s and
the grocer’s being done, she had gone up to that airy
height by Point Neptune to refresh herself with a long look
seaward before she went back to her home in the valley.
Lostwithiel took her away from the Point, and made her
look down into the harbour.
“Isn’t she a beauty?” he asked, pointing below.
Her inexperienced eyes roamed about among the boats, colliers,
fishing-boats, half a dozen yachts of different tonnage.
“Which is yours?” she asked.
“Which? Why, there is only one decent boat in the harbour. The
schooner.”
She saw which boat he meant by the direction in which he
flourished his walking-stick, but was not learned in
distinctions of rig. The Vendetta, being under repair, did not
seem to her especially lovely.
“Have you pretty cabins?” she asked childishly.

“Oh yes, they’re pretty enough; but that’s not the question.
Look at her lines. She skims over the water like a gull.
Ladies seem to think only what a boat looks like inside. I
believe my boat is rather exceptional, from a lady’s point of
view. Will you come on board and have a look at her?”
“Thanks, no; I couldn’t possibly. It will be dark before I get
home as it is.”
“But it wouldn’t take you a quarter of an hour, and we could row
you up the river in no time—ever so much faster than you
could walk.”
Isola looked frightened at the very idea.
“Not for the world!” she said. “Tabitha would think I had gone
mad. She would begin to fancy that I could never go out
without over-staying the daylight, and troubling you to send
me home.”
“Ah, but it is so long since you were last belated,” he said, in his
low caressing voice, with a tone that was new to her and
different from all other voices; “ages and ages ago—half a
lifetime. There could be no harm in being just a little late
this mild evening, and I would row you home—myself,
under the new moon. Look at her swinging up in the grey
blue there above Polruan. She looks like a fairy boat,
anchored in the sky by that star hanging a fathom below
her keel. I look at her, and wish—wish—wish!”
He looked up, pale in the twilight, with dark deep-set eyes, of
which it was never easy to read the expression. Perhaps
that inscrutable look made those sunken and by no means
brilliant eyes more interesting than some much handsomer
eyes—interesting with the deep interest that belongs to the
unknowable.
“Good night,” said Isola. “I’m afraid that I shall be very late.”

“Good night. You would be earlier if you would trust to the
boat.”
He held out his hand, and she gave him hers, hesitatingly for
the first time in their acquaintance. It was after this parting
in the wintry sundown that she first began to look troubled
at meeting him.
The troubled feeling grew upon her somehow. In a life so lonely
and uneventful trifles assume undue importance. She tried
to avoid him, and on her journeys to Fowey she finished
her business in the village street and turned homewards
without having climbed the promontory by that rugged
walk she loved so well. It needed some self-denial to forego
that keen pleasure of standing on the windy height and
gazing across the western sea towards Ushant and her
native province; but she knew that Lord Lostwithiel spent a
good deal of his time lounging on the heights above the
harbour, and she did not want to meet him again.
Although she lived her quiet life in the shortening days for
nearly a month without meeting him, she was not allowed
to forget his existence. Wherever she went people talked
about him and speculated about him. Every detail of his
existence made matter for discussion; his yacht, his political
opinions, his talents, his income, his matrimonial prospects,
the likelihood or unlikelihood of his settling down
permanently at the Mount, and taking the hounds, which
were probably to be without a master within a measurable
distance of time. There was so little to talk about in
Trelasco and those scattered hamlets between Fowey and
Lostwithiel.
Isola found herself joining in the talk at afternoon tea-parties,
those casual droppings in of charitable ladies who had been
their rounds among the cottagers and came back to the
atmosphere of gentility worn out by long stories of woes
and ailments, sore legs and rheumatic joints, and were very

glad to discuss a local nobleman over a cup of delicately
flavoured Indian tea in the glow of a flower-scented
drawing-room.
Among other houses Mrs. Disney visited Glenaveril, Mr.
Crowther’s great red-brick mansion, with its pepper-box
turrets, and Jacobean windows, after the manner of
Burleigh House by Stamford town.
Here lived in wealth and state quite the most important family
within a mile of Trelasco, the Vansittart Crowthers, erst of
Pilbury Mills, near Stroud, now as much county as a family
can make itself after its head has passed his fortieth
birthday. Nobody quite knew how Mr. Crowther had come
to be a Vansittart—unless by the easy process of baptism
and the complaisance of an aristocratic sponsor; but the
Crowthers had been known in Stroud for nearly two
hundred years, and had kept their sacks upright, as Mr.
Crowther called it, all that time.
Fortune had favoured this last of the Crowthers, and, at forty
years of age, he had found himself rich enough to dispose
of his business to two younger brothers and a brother-in-
law, and to convert himself into a landed proprietor. He
bought up all the land that was to be had about Trelasco.
Cornish people cling to their land like limpets to a rock; and
it was not easy to acquire the ownership of the soil. In the
prosperous past, when land was paying nearly four per
cent. in other parts of England, Cornishmen were content
to hold estates that yielded only two per cent.; but the days
of decay had come when Mr. Crowther entered the market,
and he was able to buy out more than one gentleman of
ancient lineage.
When he had secured his land, he sent to Plymouth for an
architect, and he so harried that architect and so tampered
with his drawings that the result of much labour and outlay
was that monstrosity in red brick with stone dressings,

known in the neighbourhood as Glenaveril. Mr. Crowther’s
elder daughter was deep in Lord Lytton’s newly published
poem when the house was being finished, and had imposed
that euphonious name upon her father. Glenaveril. The
house really was in a glen, or at least in a wooded valley,
and Glenaveril seemed to suit it to perfection; and so the
romantic name of a romantic poem was cut in massive
Gothic letters on the granite pillars of Vansittart Crowther’s
gate, beneath a shield which exhibited the coat of arms
made and provided by the Herald’s College.
Mrs. Vansittart Crowther was at home on Thursday afternoons,
when the choicest Indian tea and the thickest cream, coffee
as in Paris, and the daintiest cakes and muffins which a
professed cook could provide, furnished the zest to
conversation; for it could scarcely be said that the
conversation gave a zest to those creature comforts. It
would be perhaps nearer the mark to say that Mrs.
Crowther was supposed to sit in the drawing-room on these
occasions while the two Miss Crowthers were at home. The
mistress of Glenaveril was not an aspiring woman; and in
her heart of hearts she preferred Gloucestershire to
Cornwall, and the stuccoed villa on the Cheltenham road,
with its acre and a half of tennis-lawn and flower-beds,
open to the blazing sun, and powdered with the summer
dust, to Glenaveril, with its solemn belt of woodlands, and
its too spacious grandeur. She was not vulgar or illiterate.
She never misplaced an aspirate. She had learnt to play the
piano and to talk French at the politest of young ladies’
schools at Cheltenham. She never dressed outrageously, or
behaved rudely. She had neither red hands nor splay feet.
She was in all things blameless; and yet Belinda and Alicia,
her daughters, were ashamed of her, and did their utmost
to keep her, and her tastes, and her opinions in the
background. She had no style. She was not “smart.” She
seemed incapable of grasping the ideas, or understanding

the ways of smart people; or at least her daughters thought
so.
“Your mother is one of the best women I know,” said the curate
to Alicia, being on the most confidential terms with both
sisters, “and yet you and Miss Crowther are always trying to
edit her.”
“Father wants a great deal more editing than mother,” said
Belinda, “but there’s no use in talking to him. He is encased
in the armour of self-esteem. It made my blood run cold to
see him taking Lord Lostwithiel over the grounds and
stables the other day—praising everything, and pointing out
this and that,—and even saying how much things had
cost!”
“I dare say it was vulgar,” agreed the curate, “but it’s human
nature. I’ve seen a duke behave in pretty much the same
way. Children are always proud of their new toys, and men
are but children of a larger growth, don’t you know. You’ll
find there’s a family resemblance in humanity, and that
nature is stronger than training.”
“Lord Lostwithiel would never behave in that kind of way—
boring people about his stables.”
“Lord Lostwithiel doesn’t care about stables—he would bore you
about his yacht, I dare say.”
“No, he never talks of himself or his own affairs. That is just the
charm of his manner. He makes us all believe that he is
thinking about us; and yet I dare say he forgets us directly
he is outside the gate.”
“I’m sure he does,” replied Mr. Colfox, the curate. “There isn’t a
more selfish man living than Lostwithiel.”
The fair Belinda looked at him angrily. There are assertions
which young ladies make on purpose to have them
controverted.

Mrs. Disney hated the great red-brick porch, with its vaulted
roof and monstrous iron lantern, and the bell which made
such a clamour, as if it meant fire, or at least dinner, when
she touched the hanging brass handle. She hated to find
herself face to face with a tall footman, who hardly
condescended to say whether his mistress were at home or
not, but just preceded her languidly along the broad
corridor, where the carpet was so thick that it felt like turf,
and flung open the drawing-room door with an air, and
pronounced her name into empty space, so remote were
the half-dozen ladies at the other end of the room,
clustered round Belinda’s tea-table, and fed with cake by
Alicia, while Mrs. Crowther sat in the window a little way
off, with her basket of woolwork at her side, and her fat
somnolent pug lying at her feet. To Isola it was an ordeal to
have to walk the length of the drawing-room, navigating
her course amidst an archipelago of expensive things—
Florentine tables, portfolios of engravings, Louis Seize
Jardinières, easels supporting the last expensive etching
from Goupil’s—to the window where Mrs. Crowther waited
to receive her, rising with her lap full of wools, to shake
hands with simple friendliness and without a vestige of
style. Belinda shook hands on a level with the tip of her
sharp retroussé nose, and twirled the silken train of her
tea-gown with the serpentine grace of Sarah Bernhardt.
She prided herself on those serpentine movements and
languid graces which belong to the Græco-Belgravian
period; while Alicia held herself like a ramrod, and took her
stand upon being nothing if not sporting. Her olive-cloth
gown and starched collar, her neat double-soled boots and
cloth gaiters, were a standing reproach to Belinda’s silken
slovenliness and embroidered slippers, always dropping off
her restless feet, and being chased surreptitiously among
her lace and pongee frillings. Poor Mrs. Crowther disliked
the Guard’s collar, which she felt was writing premature
wrinkles upon her younger girl’s throat, but she positively

loathed the loose elegance of the Indian silk tea-gown, with
its wide Oriental sleeves, exhibiting naked arms to the
broad daylight. That sloppy raiment made a discord in the
subdued harmony of the visitors’ tailor-made gowns—well
worn some of them—brown, and grey, and indigo, and
russet; and Mrs. Crowther was tortured by the conviction
that her elder daughter looked disreputable. This honest
matron was fond of Isola Disney. In her own simple
phraseology, she had “taken to her;” and pressed the girl-
wife to come every Thursday afternoon.
“It must be so lonely for you,” she said gently, “with your
husband so far away, and you such a child, too. I wonder
your mamma doesn’t come and stay with you for a bit. You
must always come on our Thursdays. Now mind you do, my
dear.”
“I don’t think our Thursdays are remarkably enlivening, mother,”
said Alicia, objecting to the faintest suggestion of fussiness,
the crying sin of both her parents. And then she turned to
Isola, and measured her from head to foot. “It’s rather a
pity you don’t hunt,” she said. “We had a splendid morning
with the hounds.”
“Perhaps I may get a little hunting by-and-by, when my husband
comes home.”
“Ah, but one can’t begin all at once; and this is a difficult
country; breakneck hills, and nasty banks. Have you hunted
much?”
“Hardly at all. I was out in a boar-hunt once, near Angers, but
only as a looker-on. It was a grand sight. The Duke of
Beaufort came over to Brittany on purpose to join in it.”
“How glorious a boar-hunt must be! I must get my father to
take me to Angers next year. Do you know a great many
people there?”

“No, only two or three professors at the college, and the
Marquis de Querangal, the gentleman who has the boar-
hounds. His daughter used to visit at Dinan, and she and I
were great friends.”
“Lord Lostwithiel talked about boar-hunting the other night,”
said Alicia. “It must be capital fun.” His name recurred in
this way, whatever the conversation might be, with more
certainty than Zero on the wheel at roulette.
He had been there in the evening, Isola thought. There had
been a dinner-party, perhaps, at which he had been
present. She had not long to wonder. The name once
pronounced, the stream of talk flowed on. Yes, there had
been a dinner, and Lord Lostwithiel had been delightful; so
brilliant in conversation as compared with everybody else;
so witty, so cynical, so fin de siècle.
“I didn’t hear him say anything very much out of the common,”
said Mrs. Crowther, in her matter-of-fact way.
She liked having a nobleman or any other local magnate at her
table; but she had too much common sense to be
hypnotized by his magnificence, and made to taste milk and
water as Maronean wine.
“Do you know Lord Lostwithiel?” Belinda asked languidly, as
Isola sipped her tea, sitting shyly in the broad glare of a
colossal fireplace. “Oh yes, by-the-by, you met him here the
week before last.”
Mrs. Disney blushed to the roots of those soft tendril-like curls
which clustered about her forehead; but she said never a
word. She had no occasion to tell them the history of that
meeting in the rain, or of those many subsequent meetings
which had drifted her into almost the familiarity of an old
friendship. They might take credit to themselves for having
made her acquainted with their star if they liked. She had
seen plenty of smart people at Dinan in those sunny

summer months when visitors came from Dinard to look at
the old quiet inland city. Lostwithiel’s rank had no disturbing
influence upon her mind. It was himself—something in his
look and in his voice, in the mere touch of his hand—an
indescribable something which of late had moved her in his
presence, and made her faintly tremulous at the sound of
his name.
He was announced while they were talking of him, and he
seemed surprised to come suddenly upon that slim
unobtrusive figure almost hidden by Belinda’s flowing
garment and fuller form. Belinda was decidedly handsome
—handsomer than an heiress need be; but she was also
just a shade larger than an heiress need be at three and
twenty. She was a Rubens’ beauty, expansive, florid, and
fair, with reddish auburn hair piled on the top of her head.
Sitting between this massive beauty and the still more
massive chimney-piece, Mrs. Disney was completely hidden
from the new arrival.
He discovered her suddenly while he was shaking hands with
Belinda, and his quick glance of pleased surprise did not
escape that young lady’s steely blue eyes. Not a look or a
breath ever does escape observation in a village drawing-
room. Even the intellectual people, the people who devour
all Mudie’s most solid books—travels, memoirs,
metaphysics, agnostic novels—even these are as keenly
interested in their neighbours’ thoughts and feelings as the
unlettered rustic in the village street.
Lostwithiel took the proffered cup of tea, and planted himself
near Mrs. Disney, with his back against the marble caryatid
which bore up one-half of the chimney-piece. Alicia began
to talk to him about his yacht. How were the repairs going
on? and so on, and so on, delighted to air her technical
knowledge. He answered her somewhat languidly, as if the

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