WHAT TIMMY DID

by

MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES

Author of "From Out the Vasty Deep, " "The Lonely House, " "Love andHatred, " "Good Old Anna, " "The Chink in the Armour, " Etc. 

Copyright, 1922, By George H. Doran Company

WHAT TIMMY DID

"Deliver my soul from the sword, my darling from the power of thedog. "--_Psalms_ xxii, 20. 

CHAPTER I

The telephone bell rang sharply in the sunlit and charming, if shabby, hall of Old Place. 

To John Tosswill there was always something incongruous, and recurringlystrange, in this queer link between a little country parish mentioned inDomesday Book and the big bustling modern world. 

The bell tinkled on and on insistently, perhaps because it was now noone's special duty to attend to it. But at last the mistress of the housecame running from the garden and, stripping off her gardening gloves, took up the receiver. 

Janet Tosswill was John Tosswill's second wife, and, though over forty, a still young and alert looking woman, more Irish than Scotch inappearance, with her dark hair and blue eyes. But she came of goodHighland stock and was proud of it. 

"London wants you, " came the tired, cross voice she knew all too well. 

"I think there must be some mistake. This is Old Place, Beechfield, Surrey. I don't think anyone can be ringing us from London. "

She waited a moment impatiently. Of course it was a mistake! Not a soulin London knew their telephone number. It had never been put on theirnotepaper. Still, she went on listening with the receiver held to herear, and growing more and more annoyed at the futile interruption andwaste of time. 

She was just going to hang up the receiver when all at once theexpression of her face altered. From being good-humoured, if slightlyimpatient, it became watchful, and her eyes narrowed as was their waywhen Janet Tosswill was "upset" about anything. She had suddenly heard, with startling clearness, the words:--"Is that Old Place, Beechfield? Ifso, Mr. Godfrey Radmore would like to speak to Mrs. Tosswill. "

She was so surprised, so taken aback that for a moment she said nothing. At last she answered very quietly:--"Tell Mr. Radmore that Mrs. Tosswillis here waiting on the 'phone. "

There was another longish pause, and then, before anything else happened, Janet Tosswill experienced an odd sensation; it was as if she felt themasterful, to her not over-attractive, presence of Godfrey Radmoreapproaching the other end of the line. A moment later, she knew he wasthere, within earshot, but silent. 

"Is that you, Godfrey? We thought you were in Australia. Have you beenhome long?"

The answer came at once, in the deep, resonant, once familiar voice--thevoice no one had heard in Old Place for nine years--nine years with thewar having happened in between. 

"Indeed no, Janet! I've only been back a very short time. " (She noticedhe did not say how long. ) "And I want to know when I may come down andsee you all? I hope you and Mr. Tosswill will believe me when I say itwasn't my fault that I didn't come to Beechfield last year. I hadn't aspare moment!"

The tone of the unseen speaker had become awkward, apologetic, and thelistener bit her lips--she did not believe in his explanation as to whyhe had behaved with such a lack of gratitude and good feeling lastautumn. 

"We shall be very glad to see you at any time, of course. When can weexpect you?"

But the welcoming words were uttered very coldly. 

"It's Tuesday to-day; I was thinking of motoring down on Friday orSaturday. I've got a lot of business to do before then. Will that beall right?"

"Of course it will. Come Friday. "

She was thawing a little, and perhaps he felt this, for there came aneager, yearning note into the full, deep voice which sounded so oddlynear, and which, for the moment, obliterated the long years since she hadheard it last. 

"How's my godson? Flick still in the land of the living, eh?"

"Thank heaven, yes! That dog's the one thing in the world Timmy caresfor, I sometimes think. "

He felt that she was smiling now. 

She heard the question:--"Another three minutes, sir?" and the hastyanswer:--"Yes, another three minutes, " and then, "Still there, Janet?"

"Of course I am. We'll expect you on Friday, Godfrey, by tea-time, andI hope you'll stay as long as you can. You won't mind having your oldroom?"

"Rather not!" and then in a hesitating, shamefaced voice:--"I needn'ttell _you_ that to me Old Place _is_ home. "

It was in a very kindly voice that she answered: "I'm glad you still feellike that, Godfrey. "

"Of course I do, and of course I am ashamed of not having written moreoften. I often think of you all--especially of dear old George--" Therecame a pause, then the words:--"I want to ask you a question, Janet. "

Janet Tosswill felt quite sure she knew what that question would be. Before linking up with them all again Godfrey wanted to know certainfacts about George. While waiting for him to speak she had time to tellherself that this would prove that her husband and Betty, the eldest ofher three step-daughters, had been wrong in thinking that Godfrey Radmoreknew that George, Betty's twin, had been killed in the autumn of 1916. Atthat time all correspondence between Radmore and Old Place had ceased fora long time. When it had begun again in 1917, in the form of a chaffingletter and a cheque for five pounds to the writer's godson, Betty hadsuggested that nothing should be said of George's death in Timmy'sanswer. Of course Betty's wish had been respected, the more so that Janetherself felt sure that Godfrey did not know. Why, he and George--dear, sunny-natured George--had been like fond brothers in the long ago, beforeGodfrey's unfortunate love-affair with Betty. 

And so it was that when she heard his next words they took her entirelyby surprise, for it was such an unimportant, as well as unexpected, question that the unseen speaker asked. 

"Has Mrs. Crofton settled down at The Trellis House yet?"

"She's arriving to-day, I believe. When she first thought of coming hereshe wrote John such a nice letter, saying she was a friend of yours, andthat you had told her about Beechfield. Luckily, The Trellis House was tolet, so John wrote and told her about it. "

Then, at last, came a more intimate question. The man's voice at theother end of the telephone became diffident--hesitating:--"Are you allright? Everything as usual?"

She answered, drily. "Everything's quite as usual, thank you. Beechfieldnever changes. Since you were last here there have only been two newcottages built. " She paused perceptibly, and then went on:--"I think thatTimmy told you that Betty was with the Scottish Women's Hospital duringthe war? She's got one of the best French decorations. "

Should she say anything about George? Before she could make up her mindshe heard the words--"You can't go on any longer now. Time's up. " AndRadmore called out hastily:--"Till Friday then--so long!"

Janet Tosswill hung up the receiver; but she did not move away from thetelephone at once. She stood there, wondering painfully whether she hadbetter go along and tell Betty _now_, or whether it would be better towait till, say, lunch, when all the young people would be gatheredtogether? After all Betty had been nineteen when her engagement toGodfrey Radmore had been broken off, and so very much had happened sincethen. 

And then, in a sense, her mind was made up for her by the fact that ashadow fell across the floor of the hall, and looking up, she saw her oldfriend and confidant, Dr. O'Farrell, blocking up the doorway with his bigburly body. 

"D'you remember Godfrey Radmore?" she asked as their hands met. 

"Come now, you're joking surely. Remember Radmore? I've good cause to; Idon't know whether I ever told you--" there came a slight, very slightnote of embarrassment into his hearty Irish voice--"that I wrote to thegood fellow just after the Armistice, about our Pat. That the boy's doingas well out in Brisbane as he is, is largely owing to Radmore's goodoffices. "

Mrs. Tosswill was surprised, and not quite pleased. She wondered why Dr. O'Farrell had not told her at the time that he was writing to Godfrey. She still subconsciously felt that Godfrey Radmore belonged to Old Placeand to no one else in Beechfield. 

"I didn't know about Pat, " she said slowly. "But you'll be able to thankhim in person now, for he's coming on Friday to stay with us. "

"Is he now?" The shrewd Irishman looked sharply into her troubled face. "Well, well, you'll have to let bygones be bygones--eh, Mrs. Toss? I takeit he's a great man now. "

"I don't think money makes for greatness, " she said. 

"Don't you?" he queried drily. "I do! Come admit, woman, that you'resorry _now_ you didn't let Betty take the risk?"

"I'm not at all sorry--" she cried. "It was all his fault. He was sucha strange, rough, violent young fellow!"

The words trembled on the old doctor's lips--"Perhaps it will all comeright now!" But he checked himself, for in his heart of hearts he didnot in the least believe that it would all come right. He knew wellenough that Godfrey Radmore, after that dramatic exit to Australia, hadcut himself clean off from all his friends. He was coming back now asthat wonderful thing to most people--a millionaire. Was it likely, sothe worldly-wise old doctor asked himself, that a man whose wholecircumstances had so changed, ever gave a thought to that old boyish loveaffair with Betty Tosswill?--violent, piteous and painful as the affairhad been. But had Betty forgotten? About that the doctor had his doubts, but he kept them strictly to himself. 

He changed the subject abruptly. "It isn't scarlet fever at theMortons--only a bit of a red rash. I thought you'd like to know. 

"It's good of you to have come and told me, " she exclaimed. "I confessI did feel anxious, for Timmy was there the whole of the day beforeyesterday. "

"Ah! and how's me little friend?"

Janet Tosswill looked around--but no, there was no one in the corridor ofwhich the door, giving into the hall, was wide open. 

"He's gone to do an errand for me in the village. "

"The boy is much more normal, eh?" He looked at her questioningly. 

"He still says that he sees things, " she admitted reluctantly, "thoughhe's rather given' up confiding in me. He tells old Nanna extraordinarytales, but then, as you know, Timmy was always given to romancing, and ofcourse Nanna believes every word he says and in a way encourages him. "

The doctor looked at Timmy's mother with a twinkle in his eye. "Nannaisn't the only one, " he observed. "I was told in the village just nowthat Master Timmy had scared away the milk from Tencher's cow. "

A look of annoyance came over Mrs. Tosswill's face. "I shall have tospeak to Timmy, " she exclaimed. "He's much too given to threatening thevillage people with ill fortune if they have done anything he thinkswrong or unkind. The child was awfully upset the other day because hediscovered that the Tenchers had drowned a half-grown kitten. "

"He's a queer little chap, " observed the old doctor, "a broth of a boy, if ye'll allow me to say so--I'd be proud of Timmy if I were his mother, Mrs. Toss!"

"Perhaps I _am_ proud of him, " she said smiling, "but still I always tellJohn he's a changeling child--so absurdly unlike all the others. "

"Ah, but that's where _you_ come in, me good friend. 'Twas a witch youmust have had among ye're ancestresses in the long ago. "

He gripped her hand, and went out to his two-seater, his mind still fullof his friend's strange little son. 

Then all at once--he could not have told you why--Dr. O'Farrell's mindswitched off to something very different, and he went back into the hallagain. 

"A word more with ye, Mrs. Tosswill. What sort of a lady has taken TheTrellis House, eh? We don't even know her name. "

"She's a Mrs. Crofton--oddly enough, a friend or acquaintance of GodfreyRadmore. He seems to have first met her during the war, when he wasquartered in Egypt. She wrote to John and asked if there was a house tolet in Beechfield, quoting Godfrey as having told her it was a delightfulvillage. "

"And how old may she be?"

"Her husband was a Colonel Crofton, so I suppose she's middle-aged. She'sonly been a widow three months--if as long. "

Janet Tosswill waited till Dr. O'Farrell was well away, and then shebegan walking down the broad corridor which divided Old Place. It wassuch a delightful, dignified, spacious house, and very dear to them all, yet Janet was always debating within herself whether they ought to go onliving in it, now that they had become so poor. 

When she came to the last door on the left, close to the baize doorWhich shut off the commons from the living rooms, she waited a moment. Then, turning the handle, she walked into what was still called theschoolroom, though Timmy never did his lessons there. 

Betty Tosswill, the eldest of John Tosswill's three daughters, wassitting at a big mid-Victorian writing-table, examining the house-books. She had just discovered two "mistakes" in the milkman's account, and shefelt perhaps unreasonably sorry and annoyed. Betty had a generous, unsuspicious outlook on human nature, and a meeting with petty dishonestywas always a surprise. She looked up with a very friendly, welcomingsmile as her step-mother came into the room. They were very good friends, these two, and they had a curiously close bond in Timmy, the only childof the one and the half-brother of the other. Betty was now twenty-eightand there were only two persons in the world whom she had loved in herlife as well as she now loved her little brother. 

As her step-mother came close up to her--"Janet? What's the matter?"she exclaimed, and as the other made no answer, a look of fear cameover the girl's face. She got up from her chair. "Don't look like that, Janet, --you're frightening me!"

The older woman tried to smile. "To tell the truth, Betty, I've hadrather a shock. You heard the telephone bell ring?"

"You mean some minutes ago?"

"Yes. "

"Who was it?"

"Godfrey Radmore, speaking from London. "

"Is that all? I was afraid that something had happened to Timmy!" But, even so, the colour flamed up into Betty Tosswill's face. 

Her step-mother looked away out of the window as she went on:--"It wasstupid of me to have been so surprised, but somehow I thought he wasstill in Australia. "

"He was in England last year. " Betty, not really knowing what she wasdoing, bent over the peccant milkman's book. 

"He's coming down here on Friday. I think he realises that I haven'tforgiven him for not coming to see us last year. Still we must letbygones be bygones. "

Then she wondered with a sharp touch of self-reproach what had made hersay such a stupid thing--a thing which might have, and indeed had, twosuch different meanings? What she had _meant_ had been that she mustforget the hurt surprise she and her husband had felt that GodfreyRadmore, on two separate occasions, had deliberately avoided coming downfrom London to what had been, after all, so long his home; in fact, as hehimself had said just now, the only home he had ever known. 

But what was this Betty was saying?--her face rather drawn and white, allthe bright colour drifted out of it--"Of course we must, Janet! BesidesGodfrey was not to blame--not at the last. "

Janet knew what Betty meant. That at the end it was she who had failedhim. But when their engagement had been broken off, Godfrey had beenworse than penniless--in debt, and entirely through his own fault. Hehad gambled away what little money he had, and it had ended in his goingoff to Australia--alone. 

Then an astounding thing had happened. Godfrey had had a fortune left himby an eccentric old man in whose employment he had been as secretary fora while. His luck still holding, he had gone through most of the war, including Gallipoli, with only one wound, which had left no ill effects. A man so fortunate ought not to have neglected his old friends. 

Janet Tosswill, the step-mother completely merging into the friend, cameforward, and put her arms round the girl's shoulders. "Look here, Betty. Wouldn't you rather go away? I don't suppose he'll stay longer thanMonday or Tuesday--"

"I shouldn't think of going away! I expect he's forgotten all about thatold affair. It's a long time ago, Janet--nine years. We were both soyoung, that I've forgotten too--in a sense. " And then, as she saw thatthe other was far more moved than she herself was outwardly, sherepeated: "It really has faded away, almost out of sight. Think ofall that has happened since then!"

The other muttered, "Yes, that's true, " and Betty went on, a littlebreathlessly, "I'll tell you who'll be pleased--that's Timmy. He's got aregular hero-worship of Godfrey. " She was smiling now. "I hope he askedafter his godson?"

"Indeed he did. After Flick too! By the way he wanted to know if Mrs. Crofton was settled down in The Trellis House. I wonder if she's anAustralian?"

"I don't think so, " said Betty. "I think he met them in Egypt during thewar. He mentioned them in one of his letters to Timmy, and then, when hewas in England last year, he must have stayed with them, for that's whereFlick came from. Colonel Crofton bred terriers. I remember reading Timmya long letter signed 'Cecil Crofton' telling him all about how to manageFlick, and he mentioned Godfrey. "

"I don't remember that--I must have been away. "

They were both glad to have glided on to a safe, indifferent subject. 

"I'll go back to my carnations now, but first I'd better tell your fatherthe news. "

"You--you--needn't remind father of anything that happened years ago, Janet--need you?"

Janet Tosswill shook her head, and yet when she had shut the door behindher in her husband's study, almost the first words she uttered, afterhaving told him of Godfrey Radmore's coming visit, were:--"I shall never, never forgive him for the way he treated Betty. I hate the thought ofhaving to be nice to him--I wish Timmy wasn't his godson!"

She spoke the words breathlessly, defiantly, standing before her oldJohn's untidy writing table. 

As she spoke, he rather nervously turned some papers over under hishand:--"I don't know that he behaved as badly as you think, my dear. Neither of them had any money, and at that time he had no prospects. "

"He'd thrown away his prospects! Then I can't forgive him for hisbehaviour last year--never coming down to see us, I mean. It was so--soungrateful! Handsome presents don't make up for that sort of thing. Iused to long to send the things back. "

"I don't think you're fair, " began Mr. Tosswill deprecatingly. "He didwrite me a very nice letter, Janet, explaining that it was impossible forhim to come. "

"Well, I suppose we must make the best of it--particularly as he saysthat he's come back to England for good. "

She went out of the room, and so into the garden--back to the border shehad left unwillingly but at which she now glanced down with a sensationof disgust. She felt thoroughly ruffled and upset--a very unusualcondition for her to be in, for Janet Tosswill was an equable andhappy-natured woman, for all her affectionate and sensitive heart. 

She told herself that it was true the whole world had altered in the lastnine years--everything had altered except Beechfield. The little Surreyvillage seemed to her mind exactly the same as it was when she had comethere, as a bride, fourteen years ago, except that almost everybody init, from being comfortably off, had become uncomfortably poor. Then allat once, she smiled. The garden of Old Place was very different from thegarden she had found when she first came there. It had been a melancholy, neglected, singularly ugly garden--the kind of garden which only costlybedding-out had made tolerable in some prosperous early Victorian day. Now it was noted for its charm and beauty even among the many beautifulgardens of the neighbourhood, and during the War she had made quite a lotof money selling flowers and fruit for the local Red Cross. Now she wastrying to coax her husband to take one of the glebe fields on a longlease in order to start a hamper trade in fruit, vegetables and flowers. Dolly, the one of her three step-daughters whom she liked least, was fondof gardening, in a dull plodding way, and might be trained to such work. 

But try though she did to forget Godfrey Radmore, her mind swungceaselessly back to the man with whom she had just had that curious talkon the telephone. She was sorry--not glad as a more worldly woman wouldhave been--that Godfrey Radmore was coming back into their life. 

CHAPTER II

While Janet Tosswill was thinking so intently of Godfrey Radmore, hehimself was standing at the window of a big bedroom in one of thosemusty, expensive, old-fashioned hotels, which, perhaps because they arewithin a stone's throw of Piccadilly, still have faithful patrons all theyear round, and are full to bursting during the London Season. As toRadmore, he had chosen it because it was the place where the grandfatherwho had brought him up always stayed when he, Godfrey, was a little boy. 

Tall, well-built after the loose-limbed English fashion, and with a dark, intelligent, rather grim cast of face, Radmore looked older than his age, which was thirty-two. Yet, for all that, there was an air of power and ofreserved strength about him that set him apart from his fellows, and acasual observer would have believed him cold, and perhaps a thoughtcalculating, in nature. 

Yet, standing there, looking out on that quiet, narrow street, he wasseething with varying emotions in which he was, in a sense, luxuriating, though whether he would have admitted any living being to a share in themwas another matter. 

Home! Home at last for good!--after what had been, with two short breaks, a nine years' absence from England, and from all that England stands forto such a man. 

He had left his country in 1910, an angry, embittered lad oftwenty-three, believing that he would never come back or, at any rate, not till he was an old man having "made good. "

But everything--everything had fallen out absolutely differently fromwhat he had expected it to do. The influence of Mars, so fatal tomillions of his fellow beings, had brought him marvellous, unmerited goodfortune. He had rushed home the moment War was declared, and afterputting in some time in a training which he hated to remember, he had atlast obtained a commission. Within a fortnight of having reached hisMecca--the Front, he was back in England in the--to him--amazing guise ofwounded hero. But he had sent for none of his old friends for he wasstill ashamed. After the Armistice he had rushed through England on hisway to Australia, putting in a few days with a Colonel and Mrs. Crofton, with whom he had been thrown in Egypt. More to do his host a kindnessthan for any other reason, Radmore had sent his godson, Timothy Tosswill, a pedigree puppy, from the queer little Essex manor-house where theCroftons were then making a rather futile attempt to increase theirslender means by breeding terriers. 

The days had slipped by there very pleasantly, for Radmore liked histaciturn host, and Mrs. Crofton was very pretty--an agreeable playfellowfor a rich and lonely man. So it was that when it came to the point hehad not cared to look up any of the people associated with his earlyyouth. 

But now he was going to see them--almost had he forced himself upon them. And the thought of going home to Old Place shook and stirred him to theheart. 

To-day he felt quite queerly at a loose end. This perhaps, partly becausethe lately widowed Mrs. Crofton, with whom he had spent a good deal ofhis time since his arrival in London three weeks ago, had left town. Shehad not gone far, only to the Surrey village where he himself was goingon Friday. 

When pretty Mrs. Crofton had told Radmore that she had taken a house atBeechfield, he had been very much surprised and taken aback. It hadseemed to him an amazing coincidence that the one place in the wide worldwhich to him was home should have been chosen by her. But at once she hadreminded him, in her pretty little positive way, that it was he himselfwho, soon after they had become first acquainted in Egypt, had drawn suchan attractive picture of the Surrey village. That, in fact, was why, inJuly--it was now late September--when she, Enid Crofton, had had to thinkof making a new home, Beechfield had seemed to her the ideal place. Ifonly she could hear of a house to let there! And by rare good chancethere had been such a house--The Trellis House! A friend had lent hera motor, and she had gone down to look at it one August afternoon, andthere and then had decided to take it. It was so exactly what shewanted--a delightful, old, cottagy place, yet with all modernconveniences, lacking, alas! only electric light. 

All this had happened, so she had explained, after her last letter tohim, for she and Radmore had kept up a desultory correspondence. 

And now, with Janet Tosswill's voice still sounding in his ears, GodfreyRadmore was not altogether sorry to feel a touch of loneliness, for attimes his good fortune frightened him. 

Not only had he escaped through the awful ordeal of war with only one badwound, while many of his friends and comrades--the best and bravest, themost happily young, had fallen round him--but he had come back to findhimself transformed from a penniless adventurer into a very rich man. Anold Brisbane millionaire, into whose office he had drifted in the Januaryof 1914, and with whom he had, after a fashion, made friends, had re-madehis will in the memorable autumn of that year, and had left Radmore halfhis vast fortune. Doubtless many such wills were made under the stress ofwar emotion, but--and it was here that Radmore's strange luck had comein--the maker of this particular will had died within a month of makingit. And, as so often happens to a man who had begun by losing what littlehe had owing to folly and extravagance, Godfrey Radmore, thoughexceptionally generous and kindly, now lived well within his means, andhad, if anything, increased his already big share of this world's goods. 

Now that he was home for good, he intended to buy a nice old-fashionedhouse with a little shooting, and perchance a little fishing. The place, though not at Land's End, must yet not be so near London that a fellowwould be tempted to be always going to town. It seemed to him amazingthat he now had it within his power to achieve what had always been hisideal. But when he had acquired exactly the kind of place he wanted tofind, what those whom he had set seeking for him had assured him withsuch flattering and eager earnestness he would very soon discover--whatthen? Did he mean to live there alone? He thought yes, for he did not nowfeel drawn to marriage. 

As a boy--it now seemed æons of years ago--it had been far otherwise. ButBetty Tosswill had been very young, only nineteen, and when he had fallenon evil days she had thrown him over in obedience to her father'sstrongly expressed wish. He had suffered what at the time seemed afrightful agony, and he had left England full of revolt and bitterness. 

But to-day, when the knowledge that he was so soon going to Beechfieldbrought with it a great surge of remembrance, he could not honestly tellhimself that he was sorry. Had he gone out to Australia burdened with agirl-wife, the difficult struggle would have been well-nigh intolerable, and it was a million to one chance that he would ever have met the man towhom he owed his present good fortune. What he now longed to do was toenjoy himself in a simple, straightforward way. Love, with its tremors, uncertainties, its blisses and torments, was not for him, and in so faras he might want a pleasant touch of half sentimental, half sexlesscomradeship, there was his agreeable friendship with Mrs. Crofton. 

Enid Crofton? The thought of how well he had come to know her in thelast three weeks surprised him. When he had first met her in Egypt shehad been the young, very pretty wife of Colonel Crofton, an elderly"dug-out, " odd and saturnine, whose manner to his wife was not alwaysover-kindly. No one out there had been much surprised when she haddecided to brave the submarine peril and return to England. 

Radmore had not been the only man who had felt sorry for her, and who hadmade friends with her. But unlike the other men, who were all more orless in love with her, he had liked Colonel Crofton. During his visit toFildy Fe Manor, the liking had hardened into serious regard. He had beensurprised, rather distressed, to find how much less well-off they hadappeared here, at home, than when the Colonel had been on so-calledactive service. It had also become plain to him--though he was not a manto look out for such things--that the husband and wife were now on veryindifferent terms, the one with the other, and, on the whole, he blamedthe wife--and then, just before he had started for home again, had comethe surprising news of Colonel Crofton's death!

In her letter to one who was, after all, only an acquaintance, theyoung widow had gone into no details. But, just by chance, Radmore hadseen a paragraph in a week-old London paper containing an account of theinquest. Colonel Crofton had committed suicide, a result, it was stated, of depression owing to shell-shock. "Shell-shock" gave Radmore pause. Hefelt quite sure that Colonel Crofton had never--to use a now familiarparaphrase--heard a shot fired in anger. The fact that his war servicehad been far from the Front had always been a subject of bitter complainton the old soldier's part. 

Radmore had written a sympathetic note to Mrs. Crofton, telling her thedate of his return, and now--almost without his knowing how and why--theyhad become intimate, meeting almost daily, lunching or dining togetherincessantly, Radmore naturally gratified at the admiration his lovelycompanion--she had grown even prettier since he had last seenher--obviously excited. 

And yet, though he had become such "pals" with her, and though he missedher society at his now lonely meals to an almost ridiculous extent, Radmore would have been much taken aback had an angel from heaven toldhim that the real reason he had sought to get in touch with Old Place wasbecause Enid Crofton had already settled down at Beechfield. 

CHAPTER III

After Timmy Tosswill had been to the village shop and done his mother'serrand, he wandered on, his dog, Flick, at his heels, debating withinhimself what he should do next. 

Like most children who lead an abnormal, because a lonely, childhood, hewas in some ways very mature, in other ways still very babyish. He was atonce secretive and--whenever anything touched his heart--emotionallyexpansive. To the indifferent observer Timmy appeared to be anexceptionally intelligent, naughty, rather spoilt little boy, too aptto take every advantage of a certain physical delicacy. This was alsothe view taken of him by his half-brothers, and by two out of his threestep-sisters. But the three who really loved him, his mother, his nurse, and his eldest half-sister, Betty, were convinced that the child waseither possessed of a curious, uncanny gift of--was it second sight?--ashis old nurse entirely and his mother half, believed, or, as Dr. O'Farrell asserted, some abnormal development of his subconscious self. All three were ruefully aware that Timmy was often--well, his mothercalled it "sly, " his sister called it "fanciful, " his nurse by the goodold nursery term, "deceitful. "

It was this unlovable attribute of his which made it so difficult to knowwhether Timmy believed in the positive assertions occasionally made byhim concerning his intimate acquaintance with the world of the unseen. That he could sometimes visualise what was coming to pass, especiallyif it was of an unpleasant, disturbing nature, was, so his motherconsidered, an undeniable fact. But sometimes the gift lay in abeyancefor weeks, even for months. That had been the case, as Mrs. Tosswill hadtold Dr. O'Farrell, for a long time now--to be precise, since March, when, to the dismay of those about him he had predicted an accident inthe hunting field which actually took place. 

Timmy walked on up the steep bit of road which led to the upper partof the beautiful old village which was, like many an English village, shaped somewhat like a horseshoe--and then suddenly he stopped and gazedintently into a walled stable-yard of which the big gates were wide open. 

Beechfield was Timmy Tosswill's world in little. He was passionatelyinterested in all that concerned its inhabitants, and was a familiar andconstant, though not always a welcome visitor to every cottage. Most ofthe older village men and women had a certain grudging affection for theodd little boy. They were all well aware of, and believed in, the giftwhich made him, as the nurse had once explained to a crony of hers, "seethings which are not there, " though not one of them would have cared tomention it to him. 

Timmy had a special reason for wishing to know what was going on in thisstable-yard, so, after a moment's thought, he walked deliberately throughthe gates as if he had some business there, and then he saw that two men, one of whom was a stranger to him, were tidying up the place in a veryleisurely, thoroughgoing manner. 

The back door of The Trellis House, as the quaint-looking, long, lowbuilding to the right was incongruously named, opened into thestable-yard and by the door was a bench. Timmy walked boldly across theyard and established himself on the bench and his dog, Flick, jumped upand sat sedately by him. The little boy then took a small black book outof his pocket. The book was called "The Crofton Boys" and Timmy hadchosen it because the name of the new tenant of The Trellis House wasMrs. Crofton, a friend, as he was aware, of his godfather, GodfreyRadmore. He wondered if she had any boys. 

The two men, busy with big new brooms, came up close to where Timmy wassitting. When the child, obviously "one of the gentry, " had walked intothe stable-yard, they had abruptly stopped talking; but now, seeing thathe was reading intently, and apparently quite uninterested in what theywere doing, they again began speaking to one another, or rather one ofthem, a hard-bitten, shrewd-looking man, much the older of the two, begantalking in what was, though Timmy was not aware of it, a Cockney dialect. 

"You won't find 'er a bad 'un to work for, m'lad. I speak of folks as Ifind them. I'm not one to take any notice of queer tales!"

"Queer tales. What be the queer tales, Mister Piper?"

Timmy knew this last speaker. He was the baker's rather sharp youngerson, and Mrs. Crofton had just engaged him as handy man. 

The older man lowered his voice a little, but Timmy, who, while his eyesseemed glued to the pages of the book he held open, was yet listeningwith all his ears, heard what followed quite clearly. 

"It ain't for me to spread ill tales after what I've told you, eh? Butthe Colonel's death was a reg'lar tragedy, 'twas, and some there were whosaid that 'is widder wasn't exactly sorry. 'E were a melancholy cove forany young woman to 'ave to live with. But there, as my old mother used tosay, 'any old barn-door can keep out the draught!'"

The younger man looked up:--"What sort o' tragedy?" he asked. 

"The Colonel pizened 'isself, and the question was--did 'e do it o'purpose? Some said yes, and some said no. I was in it by a manner ofspeaking. "

"You was in it?"

The boy left off working, and gazed at the other eagerly:--"D'you meanyou saw him do it?"

"I was the first to see 'im in his agony--I calls that being in it. AndI was called upon to give evidence at the inquest held on the corpse. "

The man looked round him furtively as he spoke. The little boy sitting bythe back door of the house caused him no concern, but he did not wantwhat he said to be overheard by the two new maid-servants who had arrivedat The Trellis House that morning. 

"There's always a lot of talk when folks die sudden, " he went on, in asententious tone. "It was as plain as the nose on your face that theColonel, poor chap, 'ad 'ad what they called shell-shock. I'd heard 'ima-talking aloud to 'isself many a time. 'E was a-weary of life 'e was. So'tis plain 'e just thought 'e'd put an end to it, like many a better manafore 'im. "

And then the youth said something that rather surprised himself, but hismind had been working while the other had been talking. 

"Did anyone say different?" was his question and the other answered ina curious tone: "Now you're askin'! Yes, there was some folk as did saydifferent. They argued that the Colonel never took the pizen knowingly. 'E was very keen over terriers--we bred 'em. The best of 'em, a grandsire, was the very spit of that little dawg sitting up on that therebench. Colonel bred 'em for profit, not pleasure. Mrs. Crofton, she'ated 'em, and she lost no time either in getting rid of 'em after'e was gone. They got on 'er nerves, same as 'e'd done. She give thebest--prize-winner 'e was--to the Crowner as tried the corpse. 'E'd known'em both--was a bit sweet on 'er 'isself. "

The youth laughed discordantly. "Ho! Ho! She's that sort, is she?"

But the other spoke up at once with a touch of sharpness in his voice. 

"She's a good sort to them as be'aves themselves, my lad. She give me agood present. Got me a good, new soft place, too, that's where I'm goingto-morrer. I'm 'ere to oblige 'er, that's what I am--just to put you, young man, in the way of things. Look sharp, please 'er, mind yourmanners, and you may end better off than you know!"

The lad looked at the speaker with a gleam of rather hungry curiosity inhis lack-lustre eyes. 

"Mark my words! Your missus won't be a widder long. Ever 'eard of a MajorRadmore?"

The speaker did not notice that the little boy sitting on the benchstiffened unconsciously. 

"Major Radmore?" repeated the listener. "Folk in Beechfield did know achap called Radmore. Lives in Australia, he does. He sent home some moneyfor a village club 'e did, but nothing 'as been done about it yet. Somedo say old Tosswill's sticking to the cash--a gent as what they callstrustee of it all. But then who'd trust anyone with a load o' money? Thechap I'm thinking of used to live at Tosswill's a matter of ten yearsago. "

"Then 'tis the same one!" exclaimed the other eagerly, "and, if so, you'll not lack good things. Likely as not the Major's your futuremaster. 'E's got plenty, and a generous soul too. Gave me a present lastyear when he was a stopping at Fildy Fe Manor. The Major, 'e bought oneof our dawgs, and I sent it off for 'im to Old Place, Beechfield, damnme if I don't remember it now--name of Tosswill too. " He stopped short, and then, as if he had thought better of what he was going to say, heobserved musingly: "Some says Jack Piper's a blabber--but they don't knowme! But one thing I'll tell you. The're two after the Missus, for all theColonel's 'ardly cold, so to speak, but I put my money on the dark one. "

He had hardly uttered these cryptic words when a pretty young womanopened the door which gave on to the stable-yard from the house:"Dinner-time!" she called out merrily. 

Both men dropped the brooms they were holding, and going towards the doordisappeared. 

As they did so, Timmy heard the words:--"_She's_ a peach--thinks herselfone too--oh! the merry widder!"

The little boy waited a moment. He took a long look round the sunny, andnow unnaturally tidy, stable-yard. Then he got up, shut his book, and putit sedately into his pocket. Flick seemed unwilling to move, so Timmyturned and called sharply:--"Flick! come along at once!"

The dog jumped down and ran up to his master. Timmy walked across thebig, flat, white stones, kicking a pebble as he went. At last, when hegot close to the open gate, he hop-scotched, propelling the pebble farinto the road. 

He was extremely disturbed and surprised. He went over and overagain what he had heard the two men say. The absurd suspicion of hisfather filled him with angry hurt disgust. Why only yesterday the planof the village clubhouse had come from the architect! And then thatextraordinary disconcerting hint about his godfather? Godfrey Radmorebelonged in Timmy's imagination, first to himself, secondly to hisparents, and then, in a much less close way, to the rest of the Tosswillfamily. A sensation of strong-dislike to the still unknown new tenant ofThe Trellis House welled up in his secretive little heart, and instead ofgoing on round the village, he turned back and made his way straighthome. 

As he walked along the short avenue which led to the front door of OldPlace he saw his mother kneeling on her gardening mat. He stepped up onto the grass hoping to elude her sharp eyes and ears, but she had alreadyseen him. 

"Hullo, Timmy!" she called out cheerfully. "What have you been doing withyourself all this time?"

"I've been sitting reading in the stable-yard of The Trellis House. "

"That seems rather a funny thing to do, when you might have been herehelping your Mummy, " but she said the words very kindly. Then suddenlythe mention of The Trellis House reminded her of Godfrey Radmore. "I'vegot a great piece of news!" she exclaimed. "Guess who's coming here tospend the week-end with us, Timmy?"

He looked at her gravely and said:--"I think I know, Mum. "

She felt taken aback, as she so often was with her strange little son. 

"I don't think you do, " she cried briskly. 

"I think it's"--he hesitated a moment--"Major Radmore, my godfather. "

She was very, very surprised. Then her quick Scotch mind fastened on theone unfamiliar word. "Why _Major_ Radmore?" she asked. 

Timmy looked a little confused. "I--I don't know, " he mutteredunwillingly. "I thought he was a soldier, Mum. "

"Of course he _was_ a soldier. But he isn't a soldier now. "

"Isn't it tea-time?" asked Timmy suddenly. 

"Yes, I suppose it is. "

As they walked towards the house together Janet was telling herselfuneasily that unless Timmy had met Dr. O'Farrell, it was impossible forhim to have learnt through any ordinary human agency that Godfrey Radmorewas coming to Beechfield. Though a devoted, she was not a blind mother, and she was disagreeably aware that her little son never "gave himselfaway. " She did not wish to start him on a long romancing explanationwhich would embody--if one were to put it in bald English--a lie. So shesaid nothing. 

They were close to the door of the house when he again took her aback bysuddenly saying:--"I don't think Mrs. Crofton can be a very nice sort oflady, Mum. "

(Then he had seen Mrs. Crofton, and _she_ had told him. )

"Why not, Timmy?"

"I have a sort of feeling that she's horrid. "

"Nonsense! If only for your godfather's sake, we must all try and likeher. Besides, my boy, she's in great trouble. Her husband only died twoor three months ago. "

"Some people aren't sorry when their husbands die, " remarked Timmy. 

She pretended not to hear. But as they walked through into the hallshe heard him say as if to himself: "Some people are glad. Mrs. GeorgePott"--the woman who kept the local beer-shop--"danced when _her_ husbanddied. "

"I wish, Timmy, " said his mother sharply, "that you would not listen to, or repeat low village gossip. "

"Not even if it's true, Mum?"

"No, not even if it's true. "

When Janet had first come to Old Place as a bride, eager to shoulder whatsome of her friends had told her would be an almost intolerable burden, her husband's six children had been a sad, subdued, nursery-brought-upgroup, infinitely pathetic to her warm Scotch heart. At once she hadinstituted, rather to the indignation of the old nurse who was yet tobecome in due time her devoted henchwoman, a daily dining-room tea, andthe custom still persisted. 

And now, to Timmy's surprise, his mother opened the drawing-room doorinstead of going on to the dining-room. "Tell Betty, " she said abruptly, "to pour out tea. I'll come on presently. "

She shut the door, and going over to the roomy old sofa, sat down, andleaning back, closed her eyes. It was a very unusual thing for her todo, but she felt tired, and painfully excited at the thought of GodfreyRadmore's coming visit. And as she lay there, there rose up before her, wearily and despondently, the changes which nine years had brought to OldPlace. 

Janet Tosswill, like all intelligent step-mothers, sometimes speculatedas to what her predecessor had really been like. Her husband's elderchildren were so amazingly unlike one another, as well as utterly unlikeher own son Timmy. 

Betty, the eldest of her step-children, was her favourite, and she hadalso been deeply attached to Betty's twin-brother, George. The two hadbeen alike in many ways, though Betty was very feminine and Georgeessentially masculine, and each of them had possessed those specialhuman attributes which only War seems to bring to full fruition. 

George had been out in France seven months when he had been killed atBeaumont Hamel, and he had already won a bar to his Military Cross by anaction which in any other campaign would have given him the VictoriaCross. As for Betty, she had shown herself extraordinarily brave, cool, and resourceful when after doing some heavy home war work, she had goneout with one of the units of the Scottish Women's Hospital. 

But Janet Tosswill admired and loved the girl more than ever sinceBetty had come back, from what had perforce been a full and excitinglife, to take up the dull, everyday routine existence at Old Place where, what with a bad investment, high prices, and the sudden leap in theincome-tax, from living pleasantly at ease they had become mostunpleasantly poor. 

Jack, who came next to Betty, though a long way after, and who had justmissed being in the war, was a very different type of young Englishmanfrom what George had been. He was clever, self-assertive, and alreadyknown as a brilliant debater and as a sound speaker at the Oxford Union. There need be no trouble as to Jack Tosswill's future--he was going tothe Bar, and there was little doubt that he would succeed there. One ofhis idiosyncrasies was his almost contemptuous indifference to women. Hewas fond of his sisters in a patronising way, but the average pleasantgirl, of whom the neighbourhood of Beechfield had more than its fullshare, left him quite cold. 

The next in age--Dolly--was the most commonplace member of the family. Her character seemed to be set on absolutely conventional lines, and thewhole family, with the exception of her father, who did not concernhimself with such mundane things, secretly hoped that she would marry ayoung parson who had lately "made friends with her. " As is often the casewith that type of young woman, Dolly was feckless about money, and wouldalways have appeared badly and unsuitably dressed but for the efforts ofher elder sister and step-mother. 

Rosamund, the youngest and by far the prettiest of the three sisters, wassomething of a problem. Though two years younger than Dolly, she hadalready had three or four love affairs, and when only sixteen, had beenthe heroine of a painful scrape--the sort of scrape which the peopleclosely concerned try determinedly to forget, but which everyone aboutthem remembers to his or her dying day. 

The hero of that sorry escapade had been a man of forty, separated fromhis wife. On the principle that "truth will out even in an affidavit, "poor Rosamund's little world was well aware that the girl, or rather thechild, had been simply vain and imprudent. But still, she had disappearedfor two terrible long days and nights, and even now, when anythingrecalled the episode to her step-mother or to Betty, they would shudderwith an awful inward tremor, recollecting what they had both gonethrough. That she had come back as silly and innocent a girl as she hadleft, and feeling as much shame as she was capable of feeling, had beenowing to the tardily awakened sense of prudence and honour in the man towhom she had run away in a fit of temper after a violent quarrel with--ofall people in the world--her brother Jack. 

Rosamund now ardently desired to become an actress, and after much secretdiscussion with his wife, her father had at last told her that if shewere of the same opinion when she reached the age of twenty-one he wouldput no obstacle in her way. 

As to Tom, the youngest of Janet Tosswill's step-children, he was "quiteall right. " Though only fifteen months younger than Rosamund, whereas shewas as much of a woman as she ever would be, he was still a cheery, commonplace schoolboy. He had been such a baby when Janet had marriedthat sometimes she almost felt as if he were her own child and thatthough Tom's relation to her own son was peculiar. Theoretically thetwo boys ought to have been pals, or at any rate good friends. But inpractice they were like oil and water--and found it impossible to mix. When Tom was at home, as now, on his holidays, he spent most of his timewith a schoolfellow of his own age who lived about two miles fromBeechfield. In some ways Timmy was older now than Tom would ever be. 

CHAPTER IV

Timmy went on into the dining-room to find his brothers and sisters allgathered there excepting Dolly. But as he sat down, and as Betty began topour out tea, Dolly came in from the garden with the words:--"Guess whoI've met and had a talk with?"

She looked round her eagerly, but no one ventured an opinion. There wereso many, many people whom Dolly might have met and had a talk with, forshe was the most gregarious member of the Tosswill family. 

At last Timmy spoke up:--"I expect you've seen Mrs. Crofton, " heobserved, his mouth already full of bread and butter. 

Dolly was taken aback. "How did you know?" she cried. "But it's quitetrue--I _have_ seen Mrs. Crofton!"

"What is she like?" asked Jack indifferently. 

"How old is she?" This from Betty, who somehow always seemed to ask theessential question. 

"D'you think she'll prove a 'stayer'?" questioned Tom. 

He had hoped that someone with a family of boys and girls would have cometo The Trellis House. It was a beautiful little building--the oldestdwelling-house in the village, in spite of its early Victorian name. Butno one ever stayed there very long. Some of the older village folk saidit was haunted. 

"Did you speak to her, or did she speak to you?" asked Rosamund. 

And then again Timmy intervened. 

"I know more about her than any one of you do. But I don't mean to tellyou what I know, " he announced. 

No one took any notice of him. By common consent efforts were always madein the family circle to keep Timmy down--but such efforts were rarelysuccessful. 

"Well, tell us what's she like?" exclaimed Rosamund. "I did so hope weshould escape another widow. "

She had hoped for a nice, well-to-do couple, with at least one grown-upson preferably connected, in some way, with the stage. 

Dolly Tosswill, still standing, looked down at her audience. 

"She's quite unlike what I thought she would be, " she began. "For onething, she's quite young, and she's awfully pretty and unusual-looking. You'd notice her anywhere. "

"Did you meet her in the post-office?" asked Betty. 

"No, at church. She only arrived this morning, and she said she felt solonely and miserable that when she heard the bell ring she thought she'dgo along and see what our church was like. "

"Oh, then she's 'pi'?" in a tone of disgust from Rosamund. 

"I'd noticed her in church, though she was sitting rather back, close tothe door, " went on Dolly, "and I'd wondered who she was, as she looked sovery unlike any of the Beechfield people. "

"How do you mean--unlike?" asked Tom. 

"I can't explain exactly. I thought she was a summer visitor. And thensomething so funny happened--"

Dolly was sitting down now, and Betty handed her a cup of tea, grievingthe while to see how untidy she looked with her hat tilted back at anunbecoming angle. 

"What happened?"

"Well, as we came out of the church together, all at once that old, half-blind, post-office dog made straight for her! He gave a most awfulhowl, and she was so frightened that she ran back into the church again. But of course I didn't know she was Mrs. Crofton _then_. I got the doginto the post-office garden and then I went back into the church to tellher the coast was clear. But she waited a bit, for she was awfully afraidthat he might get out again. "

"What a goose she must be"--this from Jack. 

"She asked if she were likely to meet any other dog in the road; so Iasked her where she lived, and then she told me she was Mrs. Crofton, andthat she had only arrived this morning. I offered to walk home with her, and then we had quite a talk. She has the same kind of feeling about dogsthat some people have about cats. "

"That's rather queer!" said Tom suddenly, "for her husband bredwire-haired terriers. Colonel Crofton sold Flick to Godfrey Radmore lastyear--don't you remember?"

He appealed to Betty, who always remembered everything. 

"Yes, " she said quietly, "I was just thinking of that. Colonel Croftonwrote Timmy such a nice letter telling him how to manage Flick. It doesseem strange that she should have that feeling about dogs. "

Again Timmy's shrill voice rose in challenge. "I should hate _my_ wifenot to like dogs, " he cried pugnaciously. 

"It'll take you all your time to make her like _you_, old man, " observedTom. 

"I've asked her in to supper to-night, " went on Dolly, in her slow, deliberate way, "so we shall have to have Flick locked up. "

"Whatever made you ask her to supper, Doll?" asked Jack sharply. 

Jack Tosswill had a hard, rather limited nature, but he was very fondof his home, and unlike most young men, he had a curious dislike to thepresence of strangers there. This was unfortunate, for his step-mother wasvery hospitable, and even now, though life had become a real struggle asto ways and means, she often asked people in to meals. 

"Her cook didn't turn up, " exclaimed Dolly. "And when she asked me if Iknew of any woman in the village who could come in and cook dinner forher this evening, I said I was sure Janet would like her to come in andhave supper. "

"And I hope, " chimed in Rosamund decidedly, "that we shall all dress fordinner. Why should she think us a hugger-mugger family?"

"I don't mean to change. I shall only wash my hands!" This from Timmy, who was always allowed to sit up to dinner. His brothers and sisters weretoo fond of their step-mother to say how absurdly uncalled-for theythought this privilege. 

As everyone pretended not to have heard his remark, Timmy repeatedobstinately: "I shall only wash my hands. "

"Mrs. Crofton won't care how _you_ look, " observed Jack irritably. "If wedidn't now live in such a huggery-muggery way, I should always dress. Ido everywhere else. "

Betty looked at him, and her face deadened. Though she would hardly haveadmitted it, even to herself, she regretted the way in which everythingat Old Place was now allowed to go "slack. " She knew it to be bad for hersisters. It wasn't as if they did any real housework or gave useful helpin the kitchen. Dolly tried to do so in a desultory way, but in the endit was she, Betty, who kept everything going in this big, rambling oldhouse, with the help of the old nurse and a day girl from the village. 

Timmy gave a little cackle, and Jack felt annoyed. He looked across athis half-brother with a feeling akin to dislike. But Jack Tosswill wastruly attached to his step-mother. He was old enough to remember what achange she had made in the then dull, sad, austere Old Place. Janet hadat once thrown herself into the task of being sister, rather thanstep-mother, to her husband's children, and bountifully had she succeeded!

Still, with the exception of Betty, they all criticised her severely, intheir hearts, for her weakness where her own child was concerned. And yetpoor Janet never made the slightest difference between Timmy and theothers. It was more the little boy's own clever insistence which got himhis own way, and secured him certain privileges which they, at his age, had never enjoyed. Timmy also always knew how to manage his delicate, nervous father. John Tosswill realised that Timmy might some day grow upto do him credit. Timmy really loved learning, and it was a pleasure tothe scholar to teach his clever, impish, youngest son. 

 * * * * *

Meanwhile Janet, who had remained on in the drawing-room, got up from thesofa and, going into the corridor, opened the dining-room door. For somemoments she stood there, unseen, watching the eager party gathered roundthe table, and as she did so, she looked with a curious, yearning feelingat each of the young folk in turn. 

How changed, how utterly changed, they all were since Godfrey Radmore hadlast been in that familiar room! The least changed, of course, was Betty. To her step-mother's partial eyes, Betty Tosswill, at twenty-eight, wasstill an extraordinarily charming and young-looking creature. Had hernose been rather less retroussé, her generous, full-lipped mouth just alittle smaller, her brown hair either much darker, or really fair, as wasRosamund's, she would have been exceptionally pretty. What to thediscriminating made her so much more attractive than either of heryounger sisters was her look of intelligence and quiet humour. But ofcourse she looked not only older, but different, from what she had lookednine years ago. Betty had lived a full and, in a sense, a tragic lifeduring four of the years which had elapsed since she and Radmore hadparted in this very room. 

Janet's eyes travelled past Betty to Jack. Just at that moment he waslooking with no very pleasant expression across at his little brother, and yet there was something softer than usual in his cold, clear-cutface. Janet Tosswill would have been touched and surprised indeed hadshe known that it was the thought of herself that had brought that lookon Jack's face. Jack was twenty-one, but looked like a man of thirty--hewas so set, he knew so exactly what he wanted of life. As she looked athim, she wondered doubtfully whether he would ever make that great careerhis schoolmaster had so confidently predicted for him. He was so--so--shecould only find the word "conventional" to describe him. 

Janet Tosswill passed over Dolly quickly. To-day Dolly looked a littledifferent from the others, for she was wearing a hat, and it was clearthat she had just come in from the village. Her step-mother noticed withdissatisfaction that the over large brooch fastening Dolly's blouse wasset in awry, and that there were wisps of loose hair lying on her neck. 

As for Rosamund, she looked ill-humoured, frankly bored to-day--but oh, how pretty and dainty, next to the commonplace Dolly! Rosamund's gleamingfair hair curled naturally all over her head; she had lovely, startled-looking eyes which went oddly with a very determined, ifbeautifully moulded, mouth and chin. 

Betty was convinced that, given a chance, Rosamund would make a successon the stage, but Betty was prejudiced. There had always been a curiouslink of sympathy between the two sisters, utterly different as they were, and many as were the years that separated them. 

Tom was the only one of the flock who presented no problem. He was farmore human than Jack, but, like Jack, absolutely steady and dependable. 

Janet Tosswill's mind swung back to Godfrey Radmore. She wondered how hewould like the changes in Old Place, whether they would affect himpleasantly or otherwise. She was woman enough to regret sharply theiraltered way of life. When Godfrey had lived in Old Place, there had beena good cook, a capable parlourmaid, and a well-trained housemaid, as wellas a bright-faced "tweenie" there, and life had rolled along as if onwheels. It was very different now. 

She wondered if Betty or Timmy had told the others of Radmore's comingvisit. It was so strange, in a way, so painful to know that to most ofthem, with the possible exception of Jack, he was only a name. 

Suddenly Betty, turning around, saw her step-mother. "Dolly has met Mrs. Crofton, and she's utterly unlike what any of us thought she would be!"she cried out. "She's young, and very pretty--quite lovely in fact!Dolly asked her into supper to-night, as her cook has not yet arrived. "

She had a sort of prevision that Janet was now going to tell the othersabout Godfrey Radmore, and she wanted to get away out of the room first. But this was not to be. Janet Tosswill had a very positive mind--shewas full of what she had come in to say, and the new tenant at TheTrellis House interested her not at all, so as soon as she had sat down, she exclaimed, "Perhaps Timmy has told you my news?"

Then all turned to her, except Betty and Timmy himself. 

"What news?" came in eager chorus. 

"Godfrey Radmore is in England. He telephoned from London just now, andhe's coming down on Friday to spend a long week-end!"

Rosamund was the only one who stole a look at Betty. 

"Godfrey Radmore here?" repeated Jack slowly. "It's queer he would wantto come--after the odd way he's behaved to us. "

"Yes, it is rather strange, " Janet tried to speak lightly. "But there itis! The whole world has turned topsy-turvy since any of us saw him last. "

"I wonder if he's still very rich, " went on Jack. 

Janet Tosswill felt startled. "Why shouldn't he be?" she asked. 

"Oh, I don't know--it only occurred to me that he might have lost some ofthis money in the same way that he lost that first fortune of his. "

"It wasn't a fortune"--Betty's quiet voice broke in very decidedly--"andmost of it was lost by a friend of his, not by Godfrey himself at all. Hewas too proud to say anything about it to father, but he wrote and toldGeorge. "

A curious stillness fell over the company of young people. They were allin their different ways very much surprised, for Betty never mentionedher twin-brother. All at once they each remembered about Betty andGodfrey--all except Timmy, who had never been told. 

"And now what's this about Mrs. Crofton?" asked Janet at last, breaking asilence that had become oppressive. "Do I understand that she's coming tosupper to-night?"

It was Betty who answered: "I hope you don't mind? Dolly thought it theonly thing to do, as the poor woman's cook hadn't arrived. "

"We mustn't forget to ask her in for lunch or dinner on one of the daysthat Godfrey is here, " observed Janet. "I gather they're friends. Heasked if she'd already come. "

 * * * * *

Timmy was supposed to prepare his lessons between tea and dinner, butunlike the ordinary boy, he much preferred to wake early and work beforebreakfast. This was considered not good for his health, and there wasa constant struggle between himself and his determined mother to forcehim to do the normal thing. So after she had finished her tea, shebeckoned to her son, and he unwillingly got up and followed her intothe drawing-room. But before he could settle down at his own specialtable Betty came in. 

"Janet, I want to ask you something before I go into the village. Thereare one or two things we must get in, if Mrs. Crofton is coming thisevening--"

The little boy did not wait to hear his mother's answer. He crept veryquietly out of the open window, which was close to his table, and thenmade his way round to the first of the long French windows of thedining-room. He was just in time to hear his brother Tom ask in a verysolemn tone: "I say, you fellows! Wasn't Betty once engaged to thisRadmore chap?"

Timmy, skilfully ensconced behind the full old green damask curtains, listened, with all his ears, for the answer. 

"Yes, " said Jack at last, with a touch of reluctance. "They were engaged, but not for very long. Still, they'd been fond of one another for an ageand George was his greatest friend--"

Rosamund broke in: "Do tell us what he's like, Jack! I suppose you canremember him quite well?"

Jack hesitated, rather uncomfortably. 

"Of course I remember Radmore very well indeed. He had quite a tidy bitof money, as both his parents were dead. His snuffy old guardian had beenat Balliol with father. So father was asked to coach him. And then, well, I suppose as time went on, and Betty began growing up, he fell in lovewith her. "

"And she with him?" interposed Rosamund. 

"A girl is apt to like any man who likes her, " said Jack loftily. "But Ibelieve 'twas he made all the fuss when the engagement was broken off. "

"But why was it broken off?" asked Rosamund. 

"Because he'd lost all his money racing. "

"What a stupid thing to do!" exclaimed Tom. 

"The row came during the Easter holidays, " went on Jack meditatively, "and there was a fearful dust-up. Like an idiot, Radmore had gone and putthe whole of the little bit of money he had saved out of the fire on anoutsider he had some reason to think would be bound to romp in first--andthe horse was not even placed!"

"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Rosamund. 

"He rushed down here, " went on Jack, "to say that he had made up hismind to go to Australia. And he was simply amazed when father and Janetwouldn't hear of Betty going with him. "

"Would she have liked to go?" asked Tom. 

"Well, yes--I believe she would. But of course it was out of thequestion. Father could have given her nothing, even then, so how couldthey have lived? There was a fearful rumpus, and in the end Godfrey wentoff in a tearing rage. "

"Shaking the dust of Old Place off his indignant feet, eh?" suggestedTom. 

"Yes, all that sort of thing. George was having scarlet fever--in aLondon hospital--so of course he was quite out of it. "

"Then, at last Godfrey reopened communication via Timmy?" suggested theyounger boy. 

"Timmy's got the letter still, " chimed in Rosamund. "I saw it in hisplay-box the other day. It was rather a funny letter--I read it. "

"The devil you did!" from Tom, indignantly. 

She went on unruffled:--"He said he'd been left a fortune, and wanted toshare it with his godson. How much did he send? D'you remember?" Shelooked round. 

"Five pounds!" said Dolly. 

"I wish _I_ was his godson, " said Tom. 

"And then, " went on Dolly, in her precise way, "the War came, and nothingmore happened till suddenly he wrote again to Timmy from Egypt, and thenbegan the presents. I wonder if we ought to have thanked him for them?After all, we don't _know_ that they came from him. The only present we_know_ came from him was Flick. "

"And a damned silly present, too!" observed Jack, drily. 

"Do you think he's still in love with Betty?" asked Rosamund. 

"Of course he's not. If he was, he would have written to her, not toTimmy. Nine years is a long time in a man's life, " observed Jacksententiously. 

"My hat! yes!" exclaimed Tom. "Poor Betty!"

Jack got up, and made a movement as if he were thinking of going outthrough the window into the garden. So Timmy, with a swift, sinuousmovement, withdrew from the curtain, and edging up against the outsidewall of the house, walked unobtrusively back into the drawing-room. 

When his mother--who had gone out to find something for Betty to takeinto the village--came back, she was pleased and surprised to find herlittle son working away as if for dear life. 

CHAPTER V

Close on eight that same evening, Timmy Tosswill stood by the open centrewindow of the long drawing-room, hands duly washed, and his generallyshort, rough, untidy hair well brushed, whistling softly to himself. 

He was longing intensely for his godfather's arrival, and it seemed sucha long time off to Friday. A photograph of Radmore, in uniform, sent himat his own request two years ago, was the boy's most precious personalpossession. Timmy was a careful, almost uncannily thrifty child, withquite a lot of money in the Savings Bank, but he had taken out 10/- inorder to buy a frame for the photograph, and it rested, alone in itsglory, on the top of the chest of drawers that stood opposite his bed. 

There had been a time when Timmy had hoped that he would grow up tolook like his godfather, but now he was aware that this hope wouldnever be fulfilled, for Radmore, in this photograph, at any rate, hada strongly-featured, handsome face, very unlike what his mother had oncecalled "Timmy's wizened little phiz. "

It seemed strange to care for a person you had never seen since you werea tiny child--but there it was! To Timmy everything that touched hisgodfather was of far greater moment than he would have admitted toanyone. Radmore was his secret hero; and now, to-night, he asked himselfpainfully, why had his hero left off loving Betty? The story he hadoverheard this afternoon had deeply impressed him. For the first time hebegan to dimly apprehend the strange and piteous tangle we call life. 

Suddenly there broke on the still autumn air the distant sound of sharpbarks and piteous whines. Much against his will, the little boy had hadto bow to the edict that Flick should be shut up in the stable. Dolly, who so seldom bothered about anything, had seen to this herself, becauseMrs. Crofton, who was coming to supper, hated dogs. Timmy inhospitablyhoped that the new tenant of The Trellis House would very seldom honourOld Place with a visit. It would be impossible for them always to hideFlick away like this!

He moved further into the pretty, old-fashioned room. Like mostold-fashioned country drawing-rooms of the kind, it was rather over-fullof furniture and ornaments. The piano jutted out at right angles to abig, roomy sofa, which could, at a pinch, hold seven or eight people, thepinch usually being when, for the benefit of Timmy, the sofa was supposedto be a stage coach of long ago on its way to London. The Tosswills hadbeen great people for private theatricals, charades, and so on--Timmy'sown mother being a really good actress and an excellent mimic, but shedid not often now indulge in an exhibition of her powers. 

At last Timmy looked round at the clock. It was ten minutes to eight, andhis mother would not be down for another five minutes. So he went back tothe window. All at once he saw in the gathering twilight, two peoplewalking up the avenue which led to the house. The little boy feltsurprised. "Who can they be?" was his immediate thought. 

As far as he could make out the one was an elderly-lookinggentleman--Timmy could just see the rough grey Norfolk jacket andknickerbockers--by whose side there walked, sedately, a wire-hairedterrier. What an extraordinary thing! Surely that dog, walking by thestranger, was _Flick_--Flick, having escaped from the stable, andbehaving for all the world as if the stranger were his master. But againthere fell on his ears Flick's distant squeals of anger and annoyance andhe felt a queer sensation of relief. 

Timmy turned his attention to the other figure, that of the young ladywho, dressed all in black, tripped gracefully along by the side of hercompanion. Evidently some tiresome old gentleman, and his equallytiresome daughter. He told himself crossly that his absent-minded, kind-hearted father, or his incurably hospitable mother, forgetting allabout Mrs. Crofton, had asked these two people in to supper. If that wasso, Timmy, who was as much at home in the kitchen as in the drawing-room, knew that there would not be quite enough to go round comfortably. Thiswas all the more irritating, as he himself was looking forward to-nightto tasting, for the first time, an especially delicious dish. This waslobster pie, for which Old Place had been famed before the War, butwhich, owing to the present price of lobsters, was among the manydelightful things which the War had caused to vanish from poor littleTimmy's world. One of the few sensible people in the world who knowwhat other people really like in the way of a present had sent byparcels-post a lot of lobsters to Timmy's mother--hence the cominglobster pie to-night. 

Realising that the strangers must be very near the front door by now, heedged towards the door of the drawing-room, meaning to make a bolt for itinto what was still called the schoolroom. He did not wish to be caughtby himself in the drawing-room. But he was caught, for the door suddenlyopened, and his mother came in. 

Janet Tosswill "paid for dressing" as the old saying is. She lookedcharming to-night, in a rather bright blue evening dress, and Timmy, slipping his hand into hers, said softly: "You do look nice, Mum. "

She smiled, touched and pleased, for her child was not given tocompliments. Also, she had told herself, when glancing at her slim, active figure in the early Victorian cheval glass which had belongedto her husband's mother, that this blue dress was really _very_old-fashioned, and would probably appear so to Mrs. Crofton. 

In view of Timmy's pleasant compliment, she did not like to ask him if hehad washed his hands and brushed his hair. She could only hope for thebest: "I hope we shall like Mrs. Crofton, " she said meditatively. "Youknow she's a friend of your godfather, my dear. "

"Yes, I know that, " he announced, in rather an odd voice, and she feltjust a little surprised. How did Timmy know that? Then she remembered herhusband had read aloud Mrs. Crofton's pretty, well-turned letter--theletter which explained that the writer was looking out for a countryhouse, and would like to find one at Beechfield if possible, as herfriend, Godfrey Radmore, had described it as being the most beautifulvillage in England. 

Timmy let go his mother's hand--then he looked searchingly into her face:"Do you suppose, " he asked, "that my godfather is in love with Mrs. Crofton?"

She was taken aback, and yes, shocked, by the question: "Of course not. Whatever put such an extraordinary idea into your head, Timmy?"

The words had hardly left her lips when the door opened, and the villagegirl, who was staying on for two hours beyond her usual time because ofthis visitor, announced in a breathless voice:--"Mrs. Crofton, ma'am. "

Timmy saw at once that the visitor was the young lady he had seen walkingup the avenue. Then the old gentleman and his dog--the dog which wasso extraordinarily like Flick--had only brought her as far as the door. And then, while his mother was shaking hands with Mrs. Crofton, andshepherding her towards the sofa, Timmy managed to have a good, long lookat the new tenant of The Trellis House. 

Grudgingly he admitted to himself that she was what most people--suchpeople, for instance, as Rosamund and Betty--would call "very pretty. "

Mrs. Crofton had a small three-cornered face, a ridiculously little, babyish mouth, and a great deal of dark, curly hair which matched in aqueer kind of way the color of her big, pathetic-looking eyes. Timmytold himself at once that he did not like her--that she looked "a muff". It distressed him to think that his hero should be a friend of thisweak-looking, sly little thing--for so he uncompromisingly described EnidCrofton to himself. 

Hostess and guest sat down on the big, roomy sofa, while Timmy movedaway and opened a book. He was afraid lest his mother should invite himto leave the room, for he wanted to hear what they were saying. Timmyalways enjoyed hearing grown-up people's conversation, especially whenthey had forgotten that he was present. All at once his sharp ears heardMrs. Crofton's low, melodious voice asking the question he had beenhalf-expecting her to ask: "Do you expect Mr. Radmore soon?"

"Yes, he's coming down on Friday. " There was a pause, then Timmy heardhis mother say: "Have you known Godfrey Radmore long?"

Janet really wanted to know. Somehow, she found it difficult to imaginea friendship between Godfrey and this little fribble of a woman. But asto that, Janet Tosswill showed less than her usual intelligence. Shestill thought of Godfrey Radmore as of the rather raw, awkward, thoughclear-headed and determined lad of twenty-three--the Radmore, that is, of nine years ago. 

"My husband and I first met him in Egypt, " said Mrs. Croftonhesitatingly. The delicate colour in her cheeks deepened. "One day hebegan to talk about himself, and he told me about Beechfield, what abeautiful village it was, how devoted he was to you all!"

Janet Tosswill glanced at the clock. "It's already five minutes pasteight!" she exclaimed. "I must go and hurry my young people--their fatherlikes them to be absolutely punctual. The gong will go in a minute. "

After his mother had left the room, Timmy crept up close to the sofa, and so suddenly appeared, standing with his hands behind his back, beforethe visitor. She felt just a little startled; she had not known thestrange-looking boy was still there. Then she told herself quickly thatthis surely must be Godfrey Radmore's godson--the child to whom he hadsent one of her late husband's puppies. 

There came over pretty Mrs. Crofton a slight feeling of apprehension anddiscomfiture--she could not have told why. 

"When did you last see my godfather?" he asked abruptly, in an unchildishvoice, and with a quaintly grown-up manner. 

"Your godfather?" she repeated hesitatingly, and yet she knew quite wellwho he meant. 

"I mean Major Radmore, " he explained. 

She wondered why the disagreeable little fellow had asked such anindiscreet question. 

Then, reluctantly, she made up her mind she had better answer it truly:"I saw him the day before yesterday. " She forced herself to go onlightly. "I suppose you're the young gentleman to whom he sent apuppy last year?"

He nodded, and then asked another disconcerting question: "Did you leaveyour dog outside? Dolly thought you didn't like dogs, so my terrier, Flick, has been shut up in the stable. I suppose you only like your owndog--I'm rather like that, too. "

"I haven't got a dog, " she answered nervously. "It's quite true that Idon't like dogs--or, rather, I should like them if they liked me, butthey don't. "

"Then the dog that was with you belonged to the old gentleman?"

"Old gentleman?" repeated Mrs. Crofton vaguely. This time she didn't inthe least know what the child was talking about, and she was relievedwhen the door opened, and the Tosswill family came streaming throughit, accompanied by their step-mother. 

Laughing introductions took place. Mrs. Crofton singled out instinctivelyher gentle, cultivated-looking host. She told herself with a queer senseof relief, that he was the sort of man who generally shows a distantlychivalrous regard for women. Next to her host, his eldest son, JackTosswill, came in for secret, close scrutiny, but Enid Crofton alwaysfound it easy and more than easy, to "make friends" with a young man. 

She realised that she was up against a more difficult problem in theladies of the family. She felt a little frightened of Mrs. Tosswill, ofwhom Godfrey Radmore had spoken with such affection and gratitude. Janetlooked what Mrs. Crofton called "clever, " and somehow she never got onwith clever women. Betty and Dolly she dismissed as of no account. Rosamund was the one the attractive stranger liked best. There is nogreater mistake than to think that a pretty woman does not like to meetanother pretty woman. On the contrary, "like flies to like" in this, asin almost everything else. 

But how did they regard her? She would have been surprised indeed had shebeen able to see into their hearts. 

Mr. Tosswill, who was much more wideawake than he looked, thought hera poor exchange for the amusing, lively, middle-aged woman who hadlast lived at The Trellis House, and who had often entertained there apleasant, cultivated guest or two from London. Jack, though sufficientlyhuman to be attracted by the stranger's grace and charm, was inclined toreserve his judgment. The three girls found her very engaging, and theirstep-mother, if more critical, was quite ready to like her. As is oftenthe case with people who only care for those near and dear to them, theworld of men and women outside Janet Tosswill's own circle interestedher scarcely at all. She would make up her mind as to what any givenindividual was like, and then dismiss him or her once for all from herbusy, over-burdened mind. 

One thing, however, both Janet and the three girls did notice--that wasthe way their new acquaintance was dressed. Her black frock was not onlybecoming, but had that indefinable look which implies thought, care, andcost--especially cost. All four ladies decided immediately that Mrs. Crofton must be much better off than she had implied in the letter shehad written to Mr. Tosswill some weeks ago. 

Timmy, alone of them all, on that first evening, felt strongly abouttheir visitor. Already he was jealous of the pretty, pathetic-lookingyoung widow. It irritated him to think that she was a friend of hisgodfather. 

After they had all gone into the dining-room, and had sorted themselvesout, the guest being seated on her host's right, with Jack on the otherside of her, Janet announced: "This is supper, not dinner, Mrs. Crofton. I hope you don't mind lobster? When I first came to Old Place, almost thefirst thing I learnt was that it was celebrated for its lobster pie!Since the War we have not been able to afford lobsters, but a kind friendsent us six from Littlehampton yesterday, so I at once thought of ourdear old lobster pie!"

Mrs. Crofton declared that, far from minding, she adored lobsters! Andthen after she had been served, Timmy's fears were set at rest, for hismother, very improperly the rest of the family thought, served him next, and to a generous helping. 

As the meal went on, the mistress of Old Place realised that she had madeone mistake about Mrs. Crofton; their visitor was far more intelligent, though in a mean, rather narrow way, than she had at first supposed. Also, Mrs. Crofton was certainly very attractive. As the talk turned toLondon doings, his step-mother was amused to notice that Jack was becominginterested in their guest, and eagerly discussed with her a play they hadboth seen. 

And the visitor herself? During supper she began to feel most pleasantlyat home, and when she walked into the long, high-ceilinged sitting-room, which had such a cosy, homelike look she told herself that it was nowonder Godfrey Radmore liked the delightful old house, and these kindly, old-fashioned, and--and unsuspicious people. 

Two tall Argand lamps cast a soft radiance over the shabby furniture andfaded carpet. It was a lovely evening, a true St. Martin's summer night, and the middle one of the three long French windows was widely open on tothe fragrant, scented garden. 

Mrs. Crofton, a graceful, appealing figure in her soft, black chiffongown, hesitated a moment--she wondered where they wanted her to sit?And then Mrs. Tosswill came forward and, taking her hand, led her to thebig sofa, while one of the girls fetched an extra cushion so that shemight sit back comfortably. The talk drifted to the War, and Enid Croftonwas soon engaged in giving an animated account of some of her ownexperiences--how she had managed to spend a very exciting fortnight notfar from the Front, in a hospital run by a great lady with whom she had aslight acquaintance. Soon, sooner than usual, Mr. Tosswill and his threesons came into the drawing-room, and they were all talking and laughingtogether happily when a most unlucky, and untoward, accident happened!Timmy's dog, Flick, having somehow escaped from the stable, suddenly ranin from the dark garden, straight through the window opposite the sofaround which the whole of the party was now gathered together. When abouta yard from Mrs. Crofton, he stopped dead, and emitted a series of short, wild howls, while his hair bristled and stood on end, and his eyes flamedblood red. 

They were all so surprised--so extremely taken aback by Flick'sbehaviour--that no one moved. Then Mrs. Crofton gave a kind of gasp, andcovering her face with her hands, cowered back in the corner of the sofa. 

Timmy jumped up from the stool where he had been sitting, and as he didso, his mother called out affrightedly: "Don't go near Flick, Timmy--helooks mad!"

But Timmy was no coward, and Flick was one of the few living things heloved in the world. He threw himself on the floor beside his dog. "Flick, " he said warningly, "what's the matter, old chap? Has anythinghurt you?" As he spoke he put out his skinny little arms, and Flick, though still shivering and growling, began to calm down. 

The little boy waited a moment, Flick panting convulsively in his arms, then he gathered the dog to him, and, getting up from the floor, walkedquickly through the open window into the garden. 

For a moment no one stirred--and then Mr. Tosswill, who had been sittingrather apart from the rest of the party, got up and shut the window. 

"What a curious thing, " he said musingly. "I have always regarded Flickas one of the best tempered of dogs. This is the first time he has everbehaved like this. "

Mrs. Crofton dragged herself up from her comfortable seat. Her facelooked white and pinched. In spite of her real effort to control herself, there were tears in her eyes and her lips were trembling. "If you are onthe telephone, " she said appealingly, "I should be so grateful if youshould send for a fly. I don't feel well enough to walk home. " She triedto smile. "My nerves have been upset for some time past. "

Janet felt vexed and concerned. "Jack will drive you home in our old ponycart, " she said soothingly. "Will you go and bring it round, Tom?"

Tom slipped off, and there arose a babel of voices, everyone saying howsorry they were, Dolly especially, explaining eagerly how she herself hadpersonally superintended the shutting up of the dog. As for Betty, shewent off into the hall and quietly fetched Mrs. Crofton's charmingevening cloak and becoming little hood. As she did so she told herselfagain that Mrs. Crofton must be much better off than they had thoughther to be from her letter. Every woman, even the least sophisticated, knows what really beautiful and becoming clothes cost nowadays, and Mrs. Crofton's clothes were eminently beautiful and becoming. 

As Betty went back into the drawing-room, she heard the visitor say:--"Iwas born with a kind of horror of dogs, and I'm afraid that in someuncanny way they always know it! It's such bad luck, for most nice peopleand all the people I myself have cared for in my life, have been doglovers. "

And at that Dolly, who had a most unfortunate habit of blurting out justthose things which, even if people are thinking of, they mostly leaveunsaid, exclaimed:--"Your husband bred terriers, didn't he? Flick camefrom him. "

Mrs. Crofton made no answer to this, and Janet, who was looking at her, saw her face alter. A curious expression of--was it pain?--it looked morelike fear, --came over it. It was clear that Dolly's thoughtless words hadhurt her. 

Suddenly there came the sound of a tap on the pane of one of the windows, and Mrs. Crofton, whose nerves were evidently very much out of order, gave a suppressed cry. 

"It's only Timmy, " said Timmy's mother reassuringly, and then she wentand opened the window. "I hope you've shut Flick up, " she said in a lowvoice. 

"Of course I have, Mum. He's quite quiet now. "

As the boy came forward, into the room, he looked straight up into Mrs. Crofton's face, and as she met the enquiring, alien look, she toldherself, for the second time that evening, what a pity it was that thesenice people should have such an unpleasant child. 

Tom came in to say that the pony cart was at the door, and that Jack waswaiting there for Mrs. Crofton. 

They all went out in the hall to see her off. It was a bright, beautiful, moonlight night, and Rosamund thought the scene quite romantic. 

Mr. Tosswill handed his guest into the pony cart with his usual, ratheraloof, courtesy; and after all the good-byes had been said, and as Jackdrove down the long, solitary avenue, Enid Crofton told herself that inspite of that horrible incident with the dog--it was so strange thatFlick should come, as it were, to haunt her out of her old life, thelife she was so anxious to forget--she had had a very promising andsuccessful evening. The only jarring note had been that horrid littleboy Timmy--Timmy and his hateful dog. 

And then suddenly Enid Crofton asked herself whether Godfrey Radmore waslikely to go on being as fond of Timmy Tosswill as he seemed to be now. She had been surprised at the reminiscent affection with which he hadspoken of his little godson. But there is a great difference between anattractive baby-child of three and a forward, spoilt, undersized boy oftwelve. About a week ago, while they were enjoying a delicious littledinner in the Berkeley Hotel grill-room, he had said:--"Although ofcourse none of them know it, for the present at any rate, Master Timmy ismy heir; if I were to die to-night Timmy Tosswill would become a verywell-to-do young gentleman!"

Even at the time they had been uttered, the careless words had annoyedEnid Crofton; and now the recollection of them made her feel quite angry. All her life long money had played a great part in this very prettywoman's inmost thoughts. 

CHAPTER VI

Betty Tosswill sat up in bed and told herself that it was Friday morning. Then she remembered what it was that was going to happen to-day. 

It was something that she had thought, deep in her heart, would neverhappen. Godfrey Radmore was coming back--coming back into her life, andinto all their lives. Though everything seemed just the same as when hehad left Old Place, everything was different, both in a spiritual andmaterial sense. The War had made a deep wound, nay, far more than onewound, in the spiritual body politic of Old Place. And it was of a verymaterial thing that Betty Tosswill thought first, and most painfully, this morning. This was the fact that from having been in easycircumstances they were now very poor. 

When Godfrey Radmore had gone out of their lives there had been a great, perhaps even then a false, air of prosperity over them all. John Tosswillwas a man who had always made bad investments; but in that far-off time, "before the War, " living was so cheap, wages were so low, the childrenwere all still so young, that he and Janet had managed very well. 

Only Betty knew the scrimping and the saving Jack, at Oxford, and Tom, atWinchester, now entailed on the part of those who lived at Old Place. Why, she herself counted every penny with anxious care, and the stupid, kindly folk who asked, just a trifle censoriously, why she wasn't "doingsomething, " now that "every career is open to a girl, especially to onewho did so well in the War, " would perhaps have felt a little ashamed hadthey discovered that she was housemaid, parlourmaid, often cook, to alarge and not always easily pleased family. They never had a visitor tostay now--they simply couldn't afford it--and she hated the thought ofGodfrey, himself now so unnaturally prosperous, coming back to such analtered state of things. 

Besides, that was not all. Betty covered her face with her hands, andslow, bitter, reluctant tears began to ooze through her fingers. She hadtried not to think of Godfrey and of his coming, these last two or threedays. She had put the knowledge of what was going to happen from her, with a kind of hard, defiant determination. But now she was sorry--sorry, that she had not taken her step-mother's advice, and gone away for a longweek-end. Betty Tosswill felt like a man who, having suffered intolerablyfrom a wound which has at last healed, learns with sick apprehension thathis wound is to be torn open. 

Although not even Janet, her one real close friend and confidant, wasaware of it, Godfrey had not been the only man in Betty's life. There hadbeen two men, out in France, who had loved her, and lost no time intelling her so. One had been killed; the other still wrote to her atintervals, begging her earnestly, pathetically, to marry him, andsometimes she half thought she would. 

But always Godfrey Radmore stood before the door of her heart, imperiously, almost contemptuously, "shooing off" any would-be intruder. And yet to-day she told herself, believing what she said, that she nolonger loved him. She remembered now, as if they had been utteredyesterday, the cruel words he had flung at her during their last hourtogether when he had taunted her with not giving up everything and goingoff with him--and that though she had known that there was, even then, apart of his acute, clever brain telling him insistently that she wouldbe a drag on him in his new life. .. . She had also been cut to the heartthat Godfrey had not written to her father when his one-time closestfriend, her twin-brother, George, had been killed. 

To-day for the first time, Betty Tosswill told herself that perhaps shehad been mistaken in doing right instead of wrong, in coming here to helpJanet with her far from easy task with the younger children, instead ofgetting a good job, as she knew she could have done, after the War. 

There is a modern type of young woman, quite a good young woman, too, who, in Betty's position, would have thought that it was far better thatshe should go out and earn, say, three or four pounds a week, sendinghalf the money, or a third of the money, home. But poor Betty was noself-deceiver--she was well aware that what was wanted at Old Place inthe difficult months, aye, and even years, which would follow the end ofthe Great War, was personal service. 

And so she had come home, making no favour of it, settling into her oftentiring and tiresome duties, trying now and again to make Rosamund andDolly do their share. In a way they did try, but they were both veryselfish in their different ways, and only Janet knew all that everyoneof them owed to Betty's hard, continuous work, and sense of order. Notthat the girl was perfect by any means; now and again she would say avery sharp, sarcastic word, but on the whole she was wonderfullyindulgent, kindly and understanding--more like a mother than a sisterto the others. 

Everyday life is a mosaic of infinitely little things, whatever those whowrite and talk may say. Betty had come back and settled down to life athome, mainly because her step-mother could no longer "carry on. " Janetcould not get servants, and if she could have got them, she could not nowhave paid them. Then there had been the silly, vulgar but highlydangerous affair between Rosamund and their too attractive married"billet". Had Betty been at home that business would almost certainlyhave been checked in the bud. As for Dolly, she was worse than no good inthe home. But--a certain secret hope was cherished both by Janet and byBetty concerning Dolly. The bachelor vicar of the next parish seemed tofind a strange pleasure in her society. He was away now in Switzerlandand he had written to Dolly a minute account of his long, tiresomejourney. 

She wondered, with a feeling of pain at her heart, what Godfrey wouldthink of them all. There had been such an air of charm and gaiety aboutthe place nine years ago. Now, beautiful in a sense as was the statelyGeorgian house, lovely as was the garden, thanks to Janet's clevernessand hard work, there was an air of shabbiness over everything thoughBetty only fully realised it on the very rare occasions when she got awayfor a few days for a change and rest with old friends. 

This summer her brother Jack had said a word to her, not exactlycomplainingly, but with a sort of regret. "Don't you think we couldafford new furniture covers for the drawing-room?" and Betty had shakenher head. They could afford _nothing_ for the house--she alone knew howvery difficult it was to keep up Jack's own modest allowance. 

There had been a discussion between herself and Janet as to whether Mr. Tosswill should start taking pupils again in his old age, but they haddecided against it, largely because they felt that the class of pupilswhom he had been accustomed to take before the war, and who could alonebe of any use from the financial point of view, could not now be madereally comfortable at Old Place. Betty was ashamed of feeling how much ithurt her pride to know how concerned Godfrey would be to find how poorthey had become. She would not have minded this if he had been poorhimself. But she hated the thought of a rich Godfrey, who flung moneyabout over foolish, extravagant presents, discovering, suddenly, howaltered were their circumstances since the day when he had rushed outof the house throwing the big cheque kind John Tosswill had shamefacedlyhanded to him, on to the floor. 

 * * * * *

After Betty had had her own cold bath, and had prepared a tepid one forher father, she dressed quickly, and going over to the dressing-tablein the large, low-ceilinged room--a room which, in spite of the factthat everything in it was old and worn, had yet an air of dainty charmand dignity, for everything in it was what old-fashioned people call"good"--she looked dispassionately at herself in the glass. 

Her step-mother had said, "You haven't changed one bit!" But that wasnot true. Of course she had changed--changed very much, outwardly andinwardly, since she was nineteen. For one thing, the awful physicalstrain of her work in France had altered her, turned her from a girl intoa woman. She had seen many terrible things, and she had met with certaingrim adventures she could never forget, which remained all the more vividbecause she had never spoken of them to a living being. 

And then, as she suddenly told herself, with a rather bitter feeling ofrevolt, the life she was leading now was not calculated to make herretain a look of youth. Last week, in a fit of temper, Rosamund had saidto her:--"I only wish you could see yourself! You look a regular'govvy'!" She had laughed--the rather spiteful words passing her by--forshe had never cared either for learning or teaching. But now, as shegazed critically in her mirror, she told herself that, yes, she reallydid look rather like a nice governess--the sort of young woman a certaintype of smart lady would describe as her "treasure". Forty or fifty yearsago that was the sort of human being into which she would have turnedalmost automatically when poverty had first knocked at the door of OldPlace. Now, thank God, people who could afford to pay well for agoverness wanted a trained teacher, not an untrained gentlewoman fortheir children. 

But Betty did not waste much time staring at herself. Throwing her headback with what had become a characteristic gesture, she went off andcalled her sisters and brothers before running lightly down the backstairs. 

Nanna was already pottering about the kitchen. She had laid and lit thefire, and put the kettle on to boil for Mrs. Tosswill's early cup of tea. The old woman looked up as Betty came into the kitchen, and a rathertouching expression came over her old face. She had a strong, almost amaternal affection for her eldest nurseling, and she wondered how MissBetty was feeling this morning. Nanna had been told of the coming visitorby Timmy, but with that peculiar touch of delicacy so often found in herclass, she had said nothing about it to Betty. 

"Well, Nanna? I expect Mrs. Tosswill has told you that Mr. Radmore iscoming to-day, and that he's to have George's room. "

Nanna nodded. "It's quite ready, Miss Betty. I went in there yesterdayafternoon while you was all out. He'll find everything there just as heleft it. Eh, dear, I do mind how those dear boys loved their stamps andbutterflies. "

Betty sighed, a sharp, quick sigh. After calling Jack she had thought ofgoing into the room which had been her brother's and Godfrey's joint roomin the long, long ago. And then she had decided that she couldn't bear todo so. The room had never been slept in since George had spent his lasthappy leave for now there was never any occasion to put a visitor in whatwas still called by Nanna "Master George's room. "

"I expect he'll arrive for tea, " said Betty, "and I was wondering whetherwe couldn't make one of those big seed cakes he and George used to be sofond of. "

"That's provided for, too, " said Nanna quietly. 

And then, all at once, almost as though she were compelled to do so bysomething outside herself, Betty went across the kitchen and threw herarms round her old nurse's neck and kissed her. 

"There, there, " said Nanna soothingly, "do you mind much, my dearie!"

"No, I don't think I do. " Betty winked away the tears. "It's George I'mreally thinking of, Nanna. "

"But the dear lad is in the Kingdom of the Blessed, my dear. You wouldn'thave him back--surely?"

"Not if he's really happier where he is, " said the girl, "but oh, Nanna, it's so hard to believe that. " She went across to the big old-fashionedkitchen range, and poured the boiling water into a little silver teapot. Then she took the tray to her step-mother's room. 

Next she went down into the drawing-room--she always "did" that roomwhile Nanna laid the breakfast with the help of the village girl who, although she was supposed to come in at seven, very seldom turned uptill eight. And then, while Betty was carefully dusting the quaint, old-fashioned Staffordshire figures on the mantelpiece, the door opened, and Nanna came in and shut it behind her. "There isn't any wine, " shebegan mysteriously. "Gentlemen do like a little drop of wine after theirdinner. "

"I think what father and Jack can do without, Mr. Radmore can do without, too, " said Betty. For the first time her colour heightened. "In any case, I don't see how we can get anything fit to drink by this evening. "

"I was thinking, Miss Betty, that you might borrow a bottle of port wineat Rose Cottage. "

"I don't think I can do that, " said Betty decidedly, "you see, MissPendarth's port is very good port, and we could never give her back abottle of the same quality. "

And then, as Nanna sidled towards the door, the old woman suddenlyremarked, a little irrelevantly:--"I suppose you've told Miss Pendarththat Mr. Godfrey is coming, Miss Betty?"

Betty looked round quickly. "No, " she said, "I haven't had a chance yet. Thank you for reminding me. "

The old woman slipped away, and Betty suddenly wondered whether Nanna hadreally come in to ask that question as to Miss Pendarth. Somehow Bettysuspected that she had. 

CHAPTER VII

It was about eleven, when most of her household chores were done, thatBetty started off to pay an informal call on Miss Pendarth, in some waysthe most outstanding personality in the village of Beechfield. 

"Busybody"--"mischief-maker"--"a very kind lady"--"a disagreeablewoman"--"a fearful snob"--"a true Christian"--were some of the epithetswhich had been, and were still, used, to describe the woman to whosehouse, Rose Cottage, Betty Tosswill, with a slight feeling of discomfortbordering on pain, began wending her way. 

Olivia Pendarth and her colourless younger sister, Anne, the latternow long dead, had settled down at Beechfield in the nineties of thelast century. When both over thirty years of age, they had selectedBeechfield as a dwelling-place because of its quiet charm and nearnessto London. Also because Rose Cottage, which, in spite of its unassumingname, was, if a small yet a substantial, red-brick house with a goodgarden, paddock and stables, exactly suited them, as to price, and as tothe accommodation they then wanted. The surviving sister was now ratherover sixty, and her income was very much smaller than it had been, but itnever even occurred to her to try and sell what had become to her a placeof mingled painful and happy memories. 

In every civilised country a village is the world in little, though itis always surprising to the student of human nature to find how manydistinct types are gathered within its narrow bounds. And if this istrue of village communities all over Europe, it is peculiarly true ofan English village. 

Miss Pendarth was a clever woman. Too clever to be really happy in thelife to which she had condemned herself. She had been born many years tooearly to follow up any of the various paths now open to the intelligent, educated woman. Yet she belonged, by birth and upbringing, to thatage-long tradition of command which perhaps counts for most of all to theone class which has remained in England much the same for generations. 

The Pendarths had once been very great people in Cornwall, and longrecords of the family are to be found in all county histories. OliviaPendarth was wordlessly very proud of their lineage, and it is noexaggeration to say that she would have died rather than in any waydisgrace it. 

A woman of great activity, she had perforce no way of expending herenergies excepting in connection with the people about her, and always inintention at least she spent herself to some beneficent purpose. Yetthere was a considerable circle who much disliked her and whom sheherself regarded with almost limitless scorn. These were the folk, idlepeople most of them, and very well-to-do, who, having made fortunes inLondon, now lived within a radius of five to ten miles round Beechfield. 

Miss Pendarth was on excellent terms with what one must call, for want ofa better name, the cottage class. To them she was a good, firm, faithfulfriend, seeing them through their many small and great troubles, andtaking real pains to help their sons and daughters to make good startsin life. Many a village mother had asked Miss Pendarth to "speak" to hernaughty girl or headstrong son, and as she was quite fearless, her wordsoften had a surprising effect. She neither patronised nor scolded, and itwas impossible to take her in. 

But when dealing with the affairs of those of her neighbours, who werewell-to-do, and who regarded themselves as belonging to her own class, itwas quite another matter. With regard to them and their affairs she waswhat they often angrily accused her of being--a busy-body and even amischief-maker. Her lively mind caused her to take a great interest--toogreat an interest--in the private affairs of people some of whom shedisliked, and even despised. She was also not as scrupulous as she mighthave been in repeating unsavoury gossip. Yet, even so, so substantiallygood a woman was she, that what some people called Miss Pendarth'sinterfering ways had more than once brought about a reconciliationbetween husband and wife, or between an old-fashioned mother and arebellious daughter. It was hopeless to try to keep from her the news ofany local quarrel, love-affair, or money trouble--somehow or other shealways found out everything she was likely to want to know--and shealmost always wanted to know everything. 

There was another fact about Miss Pendarth, and one which muchcontributed to her importance even with the people who disliked andfeared her: she was the only inhabitant of the remote Surrey village whowas in touch with the world of fashion and society--who knew people whose"pictures are in the papers. " Now and again, though more and more rarelyas time went on, she would leave Rose Cottage to take part in some bigfamily gathering of the important and prosperous clan to which, in spiteof her own lack of means, she yet belonged, and with whom she kept intouch. But she herself never entertained a visitor at Rose Cottage, fora reason of which she herself was painfully aware and which the morecareless of those about her did not in the least realise. This reason wasthat she was very, very poor. Before the War, her little settled incomehad enabled her to live in comfort in a house which was her own. But now, had not her one servant been friend as well as maid, she could not havegone on living in Rose Cottage; and during the last year, as BettyTosswill perhaps alone had noticed, certain beautiful things, fine bitsof good old silver, delicate inlaid pieces of furniture, and a pair offinely carved gilt mirrors, had disappeared from Rose Cottage. 

The house was situated in the village street, with, however, a pavedforecourt, in which stood two huge Italian oil jars gay from April toNovember with narcissi, tulips, or pink geraniums. Miss Pendarth wasproud of the fine old Sussex ironwork gate and railing which separatedher domain from the village street. The gate was exactly opposite theentrance to the churchyard, while at right angles stood the village postoffice. From the windows of her drawing-room upstairs, the mistress ofRose Cottage was able to see a great deal that went on in the village ofBeechfield. 

Miss Pendarth's appearance, as is so often the case with an elderly, unmarried Englishwoman of her class, gave no clue to her clever, decisive, and original character. She had a thin, rather long mouth, whatold-fashioned people call a good nose, and grey eyes, and she had keptthe slight, rather stiff, figure of her girlhood. She still wore herhair, which was only now beginning to turn really grey, braided in theway which had been becoming to her thirty years before. The effect, ifneat, was rather wig-like, and the one peculiar-looking thing about herappearance. She always wore, summer and winter, a mannish-lookingtailor-made coat and skirt, and a plainly cut flannel or linen shirt. Atnight--and she dressed each evening--she alternated between two blackdresses, the one a velvet dress gown, the other a sequin-covered satintea-gown. 

Such was the woman to whom Betty Tosswill had thought it just as well togo herself with the news of Godfrey Radmore's coming visit to Old Place, and as she walked slowly up the village street, the girl tried to remindherself that Miss Pendarth had a very kind side to her nature. Of all theletters Betty had received at the time of her brother's death, she hadhad none of more sincerely expressed sympathy than that from this oldfriend whom she was now going to see. And yet? Yet what pain and distressMiss Pendarth had caused them all at the time of the Rosamund trouble!Instead of behaving like a true friend, and, as far as possible, stoppingthe flow of gossip, she had added to its volume, causing the story to beknown to a far larger circle than would otherwise have been the case. ButBetty, honesty itself, was well aware that her step-mother had made aserious mistake in not telling Miss Pendarth what there was to tell. Aconfidence she never betrayed. 

Betty also reminded herself ruefully that in the far-away days whenGodfrey Radmore had been so often an inmate of Old Place, there had beensomething like open war between himself and Miss Pendarth, and when shehad heard of his extraordinary good fortune, she had not hidden herregret that it had fallen on one so unworthy. 

As Betty went up to the iron gate and unlatched it, she half hoped thatthe owner of Rose Cottage would be out. Miss Pendarth, unlike most of herneighbours, always kept her front door locked--you could not turn thehandle and walk right into the house. 

To-day she answered Betty's ring herself, and with a smile of welcomelighting up her rather grim face she drew the girl into the hall andkissed her affectionately. 

"I was just starting to pay my first call on Mrs. Crofton. But I'm soglad. Perhaps you'll be able to tell me something about her. I hear shehad supper with you the day she arrived!"

As she spoke, she led the way into a little room off the hall. "I've beentrying to make out to what branch of the Croftons she belongs, " she wenton reflectively. "There was a man called Cecil Crofton in my secondbrother's regiment a matter of forty years ago. "

"She looks quite young, " said Betty doubtfully. 

"Old enough to know better than to get herself talked about the firsthour she arrived, " observed Miss Pendarth grimly. 

"I don't think she can have done that--"

"Not only did she bring a man with her, a Captain Tremaine, --but justbefore he left they had some kind of quarrel which was overheard by twoof the tradespeople who were calling to leave their cards. "

"How--how horrid, " murmured Betty. But what really shocked her was thatMiss Pendarth should listen to that sort of gossip. 

"It was horrid and absurd too, for the man had turned the key in the lockof the sitting-room, and it stuck for a minute or two when one of themtried to unlock the door in answer to the maid's knock!"

"What an extraordinary thing!"

"I could hardly believe the story, but now that I've seen Mrs. Crofton, I'm not so very much surprised!"

"Then you have seen her?" Betty smiled. 

"I've just had a glimpse of her, " admitted Miss Pendarth grudgingly, "asshe came out of church, a day or two ago, with your sister Dolly. "

"She's extraordinarily pretty, isn't she?"

"Too theatrical for my taste. But still, yes, I suppose one must admitthat she will prove a very formidable rival to most of our young ladies. I'm told she's a war widow--and she certainly behaves as if she were. "

"I don't think it's fair to say that!" Betty crimsoned. She felt a closekinship to all those women who had lost someone they loved in the War. 

"You mean not fair to the war widows?"

"Yes, that is what I do mean. Only a few of them behave horridly--"

There was a pause. Betty was trying to bring herself to introduce thesubject which filled her mind. But Miss Pendarth was still full of thenew tenant of The Trellis House. 

"I hear that Timmy's dog gave her a fearful fright. "

Betty felt astonished, well used as she was to the other's almost uncannyknowledge of all that went on in the village. Who could have told herthis particular bit of gossip?

"I wonder, " went on the elder lady reflectively, "what made Mrs. Croftoncome to Beechfield, of all places in the world. Somehow she doesn't lookthe sort of woman who would care for a country life. "

"Godfrey Radmore first told her of Beechfield, " said Betty, and in spiteof herself, she felt the colour rise again hotly to her cheeks. 

"Godfrey Radmore?" It was Miss Pendarth's turn to be genuinely surprised. "_Godfrey Radmore!_ Then she's Australian? I thought there was somethingodd about her. "

Betty smiled, but she felt irritated. In some ways Miss Pendarth wassurely very narrow-minded!

"No, she's not Australian--at least I'm pretty sure she's not. They metduring the War, in Egypt. Her husband was quartered there at the sametime as Godfrey. " She paused uncomfortably--somehow she found it verydifficult to go on and say what, after all, she had come here to say thismorning. 

"I suppose, " said Miss Pendarth at last, "that Godfrey Radmore is backin Brisbane by now. One of the strange things about this war has been theway in which those who could have been best spared, escaped. "

In spite of herself, Betty smiled again. "Godfrey has come back toEngland for good, " she said quietly, "he's coming to-day for a longweek-end. "

"D'you mean, " asked Miss Pendarth, "that he's coming to stay with thisMrs. Crofton at The Trellis House?"

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Betty. (What odd ideas Miss Pendarth sometimes had. )"He's coming to Old Place of course: he telephoned to Janet from London, and proposed himself. "

"I think it's very good of you all to put up with him, " said MissPendarth drily, "I've never said so before, my dear, but I thought itexceedingly ungrateful of him not to have come down here when he was inEngland a year ago, I mean when he sent that puppy to your brotherTimmy. "

Betty remained silent, and for once her old friend felt--what she tooseldom did feel--that she might just as well have kept her thoughts toherself. 

Miss Pendarth was really attached to Betty Tosswill, but she was one ofthose people--there are many such--who find it all too easy to hurt thosethey love. 

They both got up. 

"I'm afraid you think me very uncharitable, " said the older womansuddenly. 

Betty looked at her rather straight. "I sometimes think it strange, " shesaid slowly, "that anyone as kind and clever as I know you are, does notmake more allowances for people. For my part, I wonder that Godfrey iscoming here at all. As I look back and remember all that happened--Idon't think that anyone at Old Place behaved either kindly or fairly tohim--I mean about our engagement. "

Miss Pendarth was moved as well as surprised by Betty's quiet words. Thegirl was extraordinarily reserved--she very rarely spoke out her secretthoughts. But Miss Pendarth was destined to be even more surprised, forBetty suddenly put out her hand, and laid it on the other's arm. 

"I want to tell you, " she said earnestly, "that as far as I am concerned, everything that happened then is quite, quite over. I don't think thatGodfrey would have been happy with me, and so I feel that we both had agreat escape. I want to tell you this because so many people knew of ourengagement, and I'm afraid his coming back like this may cause a lot ofsilly, vulgar talk. "

Miss Pendarth was more touched than she would have cared to admit even toherself. "You can count on me, my dear, " she said gravely, "and may Isay, Betty, that I feel sure you're right in feeling that you would havebeen most unhappy with him?"

As Betty walked on to the post office she was glad that _that_ littleordeal was over. 

 * * * * *

John Tosswill was one of those men who instinctively avoid and put offas long as may be, a difficult or awkward moment. That was perhaps onereason why he had not made a better thing of his life. So his wife wasnot surprised when, after luncheon, he observed rather nervously that hewas going out, and that she must tell Godfrey Radmore how sorry he wasnot to be there to welcome him. 

As she remained silent, he added, rather shamefacedly:--"I'll be back intime to have a few words with him before dinner. "

Poor Janet! She still loved her husband as much as she had done in thedays when he, the absent-minded, gentle, refined scholar, made his wayinto her heart. Nay, in a sense, she loved him more, for he had becomeentirely dependent on her. But though she loved and admired him, she nolonger relied on him, as she had once done; he had a queer way of failingher at the big moments of life, and now, to-day, she felt it too bad ofhim to shirk the moment of Godfrey Radmore's return. His presence wouldhave made everything easier, for he had never admitted either to himselfor her, that Godfrey had behaved in a strange or untoward manner. 

As she turned over the leaves of a nursery-man's catalogue and gazed atthe list of plants and bulbs she could not afford to buy, long-forgottenscenes crowded on her memory. 

Radmore had been the violent, unreasonable element in the painfulepisode, for Betty had behaved well, almost too well. The girl would havethrown in her lot with her lover, but both her father and step-mother hadbeen agonised at the thought of trusting her to a man--and so very younga man--who had made such a failure of his life. That he was going out toAustralia practically penniless--nay, worse than penniless, saddled withdebts of so-called honour--had been, or so they had judged at the time, entirely his own fault. 

John Tosswill, who had a very clear and acute mind when any abstractquestion was under discussion, had told Betty plainly that she would onlybe a dangerous hindrance to a man situated as Radmore would be situatedin a new country, and she had submitted to her father's judgment. 

But how ironical are the twists and turns of life! If only they had knownwhat the future was to bring forth, how differently Betty's father andstep-mother would have acted! Yet now to-day, Janet tried to tell herselfthat Betty had had a happy escape. Godfrey had been like a bull in thenet during those painful days nine years ago. He had shown himselfutterly unreasonable, and especially angry, nay enraged, with her, Janet, because he had been foolish enough to hope that she would take his partagainst Betty's father. 

 * * * * *

Acting on a sudden impulse, she went upstairs, and, feeling a littleashamed of what she was doing, went into the room which was to be GodfreyRadmore's. Then she walked across to where stood Timmy's play-box, inorder to find the letter which Betty's one-time lover had written to hisgodson. 

The play-box had been George's play-box in the days of his preparatoryschool, and it still had his name printed across it. 

She turned up the wooden lid. Everything in the box was very tidy, forTimmy was curiously grown-up in some of his ways, and so she very soonfound the letter she was seeking for. 

It was a quaint, humorous epistle--the letter of a man who feels quitesure of himself, and yet as she read it through rapidly, there rosebefore her the writer as he had last appeared in a railing whirlwindof rage and fury, just before leaving Old Place--he had vowed at thetime--for ever. She remembered how he had shouted at her, hurling bitterreproaches, telling her she would be sorry one day for having persuadedBetty to give him up. But though she, Janet Tosswill, had not forgotten, he had evidently made up his mind, the moment he had met with hisunexpected and astonishing piece of good luck, to let bygones be bygones. For, after that first letter to his godson, gifts had come in quicksuccession to Old Place, curious unexpected, anonymous gifts, but evenDolly had guessed at once from whom they came. 

No wonder the younger children were all excited and delighted at thethought of his coming visit! Radmore was now looked upon as a fairygodfather might have been. They were too young, too self-absorbed, torealise that these wonderful gifts out of the blue never seemed to wingtheir way to Betty or Janet. Yet stop, there had been an exception. LastChristmas each had received an anonymous fairing--Betty, a beautifullittle watch, set in diamonds, and Janet, a wonderful old lace flounce. Both registered parcels had come from London, Godfrey Radmore being knownat the time to be in Australia. But neither recipient of the delightfulgift had ever cared to wear or use it. 

CHAPTER VIII

And meanwhile the man of whom every single human being in Old Place, with the exception of the little village day girl, was thinking thisafternoon, was coming ever nearer and nearer to Beechfield in an ecstasyof sentient joy at being "at home" again. 

As Radmore motored along the Portsmouth Road through the warmly-beautifulautumn countryside, a feeling of exultation, of intense personal lovefor, and pride in, the old country, filled his heart. Why had he stayedin London so long when all this tranquil, appealing loveliness of wood, stream, hill and hollow lay close at hand? There are folk who deny thecharm of Surrey--by whom this delicious county, with its noble stretchesof wild, fragrant uplands, and wide, deep valleys, is dismissed assuburban. But though they would deny it vehemently, the eyes of suchfolk are holden. 

As he was borne along through the soft, lambent air, everything he passedappealed to his heart and imagination. Each of the small, yet dignified, eighteenth-century houses, which add such distinction and grace to eachSurrey township--Epsom, Leatherhead, Guildford--gave him a comfortablefeeling of his country's well-being, of the essential stability ofEngland. Now and again, in some woodland glade where summer stilllingered, he would pass by happy groups engaged in black-berrying;while on the road there waited the charabancs, the motor-cycles, thepony-traps, which had brought them. 

Once, when they came to such a spot, he, Radmore, called out to hischauffeur to stop. They were close to the crest of Boxhill, and belowthem lay spread out what is perhaps the finest, because the richest inhuman and historic associations, view in Southern England. As he stood upand gazed down and down and down, to his right he saw what looked from uphere such a tiny toylike town, and it recalled suddenly a book he hadonce read, as one reads a Jules Verne romance, "The Battle of Dorking, "a soldier's fairy-tale that had come perilously near being a prophecy. 

Before Radmore's eyes--blotting out the noble, peaceful landscape, richin storied beauty--there rose an extraordinarily vivid phantasmagoria ofvast masses of armed men in field grey moving across that wide, thicklypeopled valley of lovely villages and cosy little towns. He saw as in avision the rich stretches of arable land, the now red, brown, and yellowspinneys and clumps of high trees, the meadows dotted with sleek cattle, laid waste--while sinister columns of flames and massed clouds of smokerose from each homestead. 

"Drive on!" he called out, and the chauffeur was startled by the harshnote in his employer's generally kindly voice. 

On they sped down the great flank of the huge hill, past the hostelrywhere Nelson bid a last farewell to his Emma, on and on along narrowlanes, and between high hedges starred with autumn flowers. And then, when in a spot so wild and lonely that it might have been a hundred milesfrom a town--though it was only some ten miles from Beechfield--somethingwent wrong with the engine of the car. 

Janet had proposed that tea should be at five o'clock, so as to give thevisitor plenty of time to arrive. But from four onwards, all the youngerfolk were in a state of excitement and expectation--Timmy runningconstantly in and out of the house, rushing to the gate, from whence along stretch of road could be seen, till his constant gyrations got onhis mother's nerves, and she sharply ordered him to come in and be quiet. 

At a quarter to five the telephone bell rang and Jack languidly went toanswer it. Then he came back into the drawing-room. "Radmore's had abreakdown, " he said briefly, "he's afraid he can't get here till seven. "

Here was a disappointing anti-climax!

"Then we'd better all go and have our tea, " said Timmy sententiously, andeveryone felt, in a dispirited way, that, as usual, Timmy had hit thenail on the head. 

They all trooped into the dining-room, but Timmy was the only one who didfull justice to the cakes and scones which had been made specially inGodfrey Radmore's honour: all the others felt cross and disappointed, especially Tom and Rosamund, who had given up going to a tennis-party. 

Tea was soon over, for everyone talked much less than usual, and thenthey all scattered with the exception of Timmy and Betty. Janet hadsomeone to see in the village; Tom persuaded Rosamund that they wouldstill be welcome at the tennis-party; Betty stayed to clear the table. She, alone of them all, was glad of even this short respite, for, as theday had gone on, she had begun to dread the meeting inexpressibly. Sheknew that even Tom--who had only been seven years old when Godfrey wentaway--would be wondering how she felt, and watching to see how she wouldbehave. It was a comfort to be alone with only Timmy who was still attable eating steadily. Till recently tea had been Timmy's last meal, though, as a matter of fact, he had nearly always joined in their verysimple evening meal. And lately it had been ordained that he was to eatmeat. But much as he ate, he never grew fat. 

"Hurry up!" said Betty absently. "I want to take off the table-cloth. Wecan wash up presently. "

Timmy got up and shook himself; then he went across to the window, Flickfollowing him, while Betty after having made two tray journeys into thekitchen, folded up the table-cloth. Timmy might have done this lastlittle job, but he pretended not to see that his sister wanted help. Hethought it such a shame that he wasn't now allowed the perilous andexciting task of carrying a laden tray. But there had been a certaindreadful day when. .. 

Betty turned round, surprised at the child's stillness and silence. Timmywas standing half in and half out of the long French windows staring atsomething his sister could not see. 

Then, all at once, Betty's heart seemed to stop still. She heard a voice, familiar in a sense, and yet so unlike the voice of which she had onceknown every inflection. 

"Hullo! I do believe I see Timothy Godfrey Radmore Tosswill!" and thewindow for a moment was darkened by a tall, stalwart figure, which lookedas if it were two sizes larger than that which Betty remembered. 

The stranger took up Timmy's slight, thin figure as easily as a littlegirl takes up a doll, and now he was holding his godson up in the air, looking up at him with a half humorous, half whimsical expression, whilehe exclaimed:--"I can't think where you came from? You've none of thefamily's good looks, and you haven't a trace of your mother!"

Then he set Timmy down rather carefully and delicately on the edge of theshabby Turkey carpet, and stepped forward, into the dining-room. 

"I wonder if I may have a cup of tea? Is Preston still here?"

"Preston's married. She has five children. Mother says it's four toomany, as her husband's a cripple. " Timmy waited a moment. "We haven't gota parlourmaid now. Mother says we lead the simple life. "

"The devil you do!" cried Radmore, diverted, and then, not till then, didhe suddenly become aware that he and his godson were not alone. 

"Why, Betty!" he exclaimed in a voice he tried to make quite ordinary, "I didn't see you. Have you been there the whole time?"--the whole timebeing but half a minute at the longest. 

And then he strode across the room, and, taking her two hands in hisstrong grasp, brought her forward, rather masterfully, to the windowthrough which he had just come. 

"You're just the same, " he said, but there was a doubtful note in hisvoice, and then as she remained silent, though she smiled a littletremulously, he went on:--

"Nine years have made an awful difference to me--nine years _and_ thewar! But Beechfield, from what I've been able to see of it, seems exactlythe same--not a twig, not a leaf, not a stone out of place!"

"We didn't expect you for another hour at least, " said Betty, in herquiet, well-modulated voice. 

She was wondering whether he remembered, as she now remembered with akind of sickening vividness, the last time they had been together in thisroom--for it was here, in the dining-room of Old Place, that they hadspent their last miserable, heart-broken moment together, a moment whenall the angry bitterness had been merged in wild, piteous tenderness, andheart-break. .. 

"I had a bit of luck, " he answered cheerfully, "as I went out of thehouse where I had managed to get on to a telephone, there came a car downthe road, and I asked the man who was driving it if he would give me alift. My luck held, for he was actually breaking his journey for half anhour here, at Beechfield!"

He was talking rather quickly now, as if at last aware of somethingpainful, awkward, in the atmosphere. 

"Others all out?" he asked. "Perhaps you'll show me my room, godson?"

"Wouldn't you like to see Nanna?" asked Timmy officiously. "She's solooking forward to seeing you. She wants to thank you for the bigShetland shawl she supposes you sent her last Christmas, and she has anidea that the little real silver teapot she got on her birthday came fromyou too. It has on it 'A Present for a Good Girl. '"

 * * * * *

As Radmore followed Timmy up the once familiar staircase, he feltextraordinarily moved. 

How strange the thought that while not only his own life, but the livesof all the people with whom he had been so intimately associated, hadchanged--this old house had remained absolutely unaltered! Nothing hadbeen added--as far as he could see--and nothing taken away, and yet thehuman atmosphere was quite other than what it had been ten years ago. 

Just now, in the moment of meeting, he had avoided asking Betty aboutGeorge. Betty's twin had been away at the time of Radmore's break withOld Place--away in a sense which in our civilised days can only bebrought about by one thing, an infectious illness. At the time theagonising debate was going on at Beechfield, he had been in a feverhospital close on a month, and they were none of them to see him forthree more weeks. It had been at once a pain and a relief that he shouldnot be there--yet what good could a boy of nineteen have done?

As to what had happened to George afterwards, Radmore knew nothing. Hebelieved that his friend had joined the Indian Civil Service. Fromchildhood George had always intended to make his career in India, hismaternal forebears having all been in the service of John Company. 

During the last few days Radmore had thought a great deal of George, wondering what had happened to him during the war--whether, for instance, he had at last managed, as did so many Anglo-Indian officials, to getleave to join the Army? At one moment, before it had entered into hismind to write to his little godson, he had thought of opening upcommunications through George. But he had rejected the notion. The breakhad been so complete, and George, after all, was so closely connectedwith Betty! Considering that he had not mentioned Betty's brother, eitherwhen speaking to Janet on the telephone two or three days ago, or againjust when he had made his unconventional re-entry into Old Place, it wasodd how the thought of Betty's twin haunted him as he followed his littleguide upstairs. Odd? No, in a sense very natural, for he and George oftenraced each other up these very stairs. They had been such pals in spiteof the four years' difference between them. 

Radmore and Timmy were now in the kind of annex or wing which had beenadded some fifty years after the original mansion had been built. Thelower floor of this annex consisted of one big room which, even in thedays of Radmore's first acquaintance with the Tosswills, was only used inwarm weather. Above it were two good bedrooms--the one still called"George's room, " over-looked the garden, and had a charming view ofbracken-covered hill beyond. 

Timmy opened the door with a flourish, and Radmore saw at once that onlyone of the two beds was made up; otherwise the room was exactly the same, with this one great outstanding difference--that it had a curiouslyunlived-in look. The dark green linoleum on the floor appeared a thoughtmore worn, the old rug before the fireplace a thought more shabby--still, how well things lasted, in the old country!

He walked across to one of the windows, and the sight of the garden belownow in its full autumn beauty, seemed to bring Janet Tosswill vividlybefore him. 

"Your mother as great a gardener as ever?" he asked, without turninground, and Timmy said eagerly:--"I should think she is! And we're goingto sell our flowers and vegetables. _We_ shall get the money now; the RedCross got it during the war. "

As his godfather remained silent, the boy went on insistently:--"Fifteenshillings a week clear profit is £40 a year, and Mum thinks it will cometo more than that. "

Radmore turned round. 

"I wonder if any of you have yet met a lady who's just come to livehere--Mrs. Crofton?"

"Oh, yes, we've met her; in fact she's been to supper. " Timmy spokewithout enthusiasm, but Radmore did not notice that. 

"I was wondering if you and I could go round and see her between now anddinner?"

"I _think_ I could. " There was a doubtful touch in Timmy's voice. He knewquite well he ought to stay and help his sister to wash up the tea-thingsand do certain other little jobs, but he also knew that if he asked Bettyto let him off, she would. 

"I shan't be a minute, " he exclaimed, and a moment later Radmore heardthe little feet pattering down the carpetless back stairs, and thenscampering up again. 

Timmy ran in breathlessly. "It's all right!" he exclaimed, "I can gowith you--Mrs. Crofton has got The Trellis House--I'll show you the waythere. "

"Show me the way there?" repeated Radmore. "Why, I knew The Trellis Housefrom garret to cellar before you were born, young man. "

In the hall Timmy gave a queer, side-long look at his companion. "Do youthink we'd better take Flick?" he asked doubtfully, "Mrs. Crofton doesn'tlike dogs. "

"Oh, yes, she does, " Radmore spoke carelessly. "Flick was bred by ColonelCrofton. I think she'll be very pleased to see him. "

Timmy would have hotly resented being called cruel, and to animals he wasmost humane, yet somehow he had enjoyed Mrs. Crofton's terror the othernight, and he was not unwilling to see a repetition of it. And so thethree set out--Timmy, Radmore, and Flick. Somehow it was a comfort to thegrown-up man to have the child with him. Had he been alone he would havefelt like a ghost walking up the quiet, empty village street. Thepresence of the child and the dog made him feel so _real_. 

The two trudged on in silence for a bit, and then Radmore asked in a lowvoice:--"Is that busy-body, Miss Pendarth, still alive?"

They were passing by Rose Cottage as he spoke, and Timmy at once repliedin a shrill voice:--"Yes, of course she is. " And then, as if as anafterthought, he remarked slyly:--"Rosamund often says she wishes shewere dead. Do you hate her, too?"

"Hate's a big word, " said Radmore thoughtfully, "but there was verylittle love lost between me and that good lady in the old days. "

They passed the lych-gate of the churchyard, and then, following a suddenimpulse, Radmore turned into the post-office. 

Yes, his instinct had been right, for here, at any rate, was an oldfriend, but a friend who, from a young man, had become old and grey. Grasping the postmaster, Jim Cobbett, warmly by the hand Radmoreexclaimed:--"I'm glad to find you well and hearty, Cobbett. " Therecame the surprised: "Why, it's Mr. Radmore to be sure! How's the worldbeen treating you, sir?"

"Better than I deserve, Cobbett. "

"Can you stay a minute, sir--Missus would like to see you, too?" Thespeaker opened a door out of the tiny shop, and Radmore, followed byTimmy and Flick, walked into a cosy living-room, where an old dog gotup and growled at them. 

"That dog, " said Timmy in a hoarse whisper, "frightened poor Mrs. Croftonvery much the other day as she was coming out of church. "

For a moment Radmore thought the room was empty. Then, in the dimlamp-light, a woman, who had been sitting by the fireplace, got up. 

"Here's Mr. Radmore come all the way from Australia, mother. "

"Mr. Radmore?" repeated the woman dully, and Radmore had another, and avery painful, shock. 

He remembered Mrs. Cobbett definitely, as a buxom, merry-looking youngwoman. She now looked older than her husband, and she did not smile athim, as the man had done, as she held out her worn, thin hand. 

"A deal has happened, " she said slowly, "since you went away. "

"Yes, " said Radmore, "a deal has happened, Mrs. Cobbett; but Beechfieldseems unchanged, I cannot see any difference at all. "

"Hearts are changed, " she said in a strange voice. 

For the first time since he had been in Beechfield, Radmore felt a tremorof real discomfort run through him. 

He looked up at the mantelpiece. It was bare save for the photographs, incheap frames, of two stolid-looking lads, whom he vaguely remembered. 

"Those your boys?" he asked kindly, and then, making an effort of memoryof which he felt harmlessly proud, he said:--"Let me see, one was Peterand the other was Paul, eh? I hope they're all right, Mrs. Cobbett?"

"In a sense, sir, " she said apathetically. "I do believe they are. Theywas both killed within a month of one another--first Paul, then Pete, aswe called him--so Mr. Cobbett and I be very lonely now. "

As Radmore and Timmy walked away from the post-office, Radmore saida trifle ruefully:--"I wish, Timmy, you had told me about those poorpeople's sons. I'm afraid--I suppose--that a good many boys never cameback to Beechfield. "

He now felt that everything was indeed changed in the lovely, peacefullittle Surrey village. 

"I expect, " said Timmy thoughtfully, "that the most sensible thing youcould do"--(he avoided calling Radmore by name, not knowing whether hewas expected to address him as "godfather, " "Godfrey, " or "MajorRadmore")--"before we see anybody else, would be to take a look at theShrine. You have plenty of matches with you, haven't you?"

"The Shrine?" repeated Radmore hesitatingly. 

"Yes, _you_ know?"

But somehow Radmore didn't know. 

They walked on in the now fast gathering darkness through a part of thevillage where the houses were rather spread out. And suddenly, justopposite the now closed, silent schoolhouse and its big playground, Timmystopped and pointed up to his right. "There's our Shrine, " he exclaimed. "If you'll give me the box of matches, I'll strike some while you look atthe names. "

Radmore stared up to where Timmy pointed, but, for a moment or two, hecould see nothing. Then, gradually, there emerged against the high hedgea curious-looking wooden panel protected by a slanting, neatly thatchedeave, while below ran a little shelf on which there were three vasesfilled with fresh flowers. 

Timmy Tosswill struck a match and held it up, far above his little head. And Radmore saw flash out the gilded words:--

 ROLL OF HONOUR, 1914-1918. PASS, FRIEND. ALL'S WELL. 

The first name was "Thomas Ingleton, " then came "Mons, 22nd August, 1914. " Immediately below, bracketed together, came "Peter and PaulCobbett, " followed, in the one case, by the date October 15, 1915, and inthe other, November 19, 1915. And then, in the wavering light, thereseemed to start out another name and date. 

Radmore uttered an exclamation of sharp pain, almost of anger. He didnot want the child to see his shocked, convulsed face, but he saidquickly:--"Not George? Surely, Timmy, not _George_?"

Timmy answered, "Then you didn't know? Dad and Betty thought you did, butMum thought that perhaps you didn't. "

"Why wasn't I told?" asked Radmore roughly. "I should have thought, Timmy, that you might have told me when you answered my first letter. "

He took the box of matches out of Timmy's hand, and himself lighting amatch, went up quite close to the list of names. Yes, it was there rightenough. 

"When did he, George, volunteer?" he asked. 

"On the seventh of August, two days after the War began, " said Timmysimply. "He was awfully afraid they wouldn't take him. There was such arush, you know. But they did take him, and the doctor who saw himundressed, naked, you know, told Daddy"--the child hesitated a moment, then repeated slowly, proudly--"that George was one of the finestspecimens of young manhood he had ever seen. "

"And when did he go out?"

"He went out very soon; and we used to have such jolly times when he cameback, because, you know, he did come back three times altogether, and thesecond time--Betty hadn't gone to France then--they all went up to Londontogether and had a splendid time. I didn't go; Mum didn't think it worththe expense that I should go, though George wanted me to. "

Hardly conscious that he was doing so, Radmore turned round, and beganwalking quietly on along the dark road, with Timmy trotting by his side. "What I believed, " he muttered, half to himself, "was that George wassafe in India, and probably not even allowed to volunteer. "

"George never went to India, " said Timmy soberly. "Betty wasn't well, Ithink, and as they were twins, he didn't like to go so far away from her. So he got a job in London. It was quite nice, and he used to come downonce a month or so. " He waited a moment, then went on. "Betty always saidhe was a born soldier, and that he ought to have been a soldier from thevery beginning. As you care so much, " he added a little diffidently, "Iexpect Betty would show you the letters his men wrote about him. Dad hasgot the letters of his Colonel and of the officers, but Betty has theothers. "

And then all at once Radmore felt a small skinny hand slipped into his. 

"I want to tell you something, " muttered Timmy. "I want to tell you twothings. I want to tell you that I'm sure George is in Heaven. I don'tknow if you know, but I sometimes see people who are dead. I saw PeteCobbett once. He was standing by the back door of the post-office, andthat old dog of theirs saw him too; it was just before we got the newsthat he was killed, so I thought he was back on leave. But I've neverseen George--sometimes I've felt as if he were there, but I've never_seen_ him. "

For a moment Radmore wondered if he had heard the words aright. Whatcould the child mean? Did Timmy claim the power to see spirits?

"Now I'll tell you the second thing, " went on Timmy, his voice droppingto a whisper. "The last time George was home he came into the nightnursery one night. Nanna was still busy in the kitchen, so I was bymyself. I have a room all to myself now, but I hadn't then. George camein to say a special good-bye to me--he was going off the next morningvery early, and Betty wanted to be the only one up to see him go; I meanreally early, half past five in the morning. And then--and then--he saidto me: 'You'll look after Betty, Timmy? If anything happens to me you'lltake my place, won't you, old chap? You'll look after Betty all the daysof her life?' I promised I would, and so I will too. But I haven't toldher what George said, and you mustn't tell anybody. I've only told youbecause you're my godfather. "

CHAPTER IX

Mrs. Crofton was walking restlessly about her new home--the house thatwas so new to her, and yet, if local tradition could be trusted, one ofthe oldest inhabited dwellings in that part of England. 

She had felt so sure that Godfrey Radmore would manage to get away fromOld Place, and call on her this afternoon, for Jack Tosswill had told herthat he was arriving before tea--she felt depressed and disappointedthough she had not yet given up hope. 

She wondered if he would come alone the first time, or if one ofthe girls would accompany him. She felt just a little afraid ofRosamund--Rosamund was so very pretty with all the added, evanescentcharm of extreme youth. She told herself that it was lucky that she, Enid, and Godfrey Radmore were already friends, and good friends too. 

Twice she went up into her bedroom and gave a long, searching, anxiouslook at herself in the narrow panel mirror which she had fixed on to oneof the cupboard doors. That there is no truer critic of herself, and ofher appearance, than a very pretty woman, is generally true even of thevainest and most self-confident of her sex. 

Enid Crofton had put on a white serge skirt, and a white woolen jumper, the only concession to her new widowhood being that the white jumper wasbordered in pale grey of a shade that matched her shoes and stockings. Though her anxious surveys of herself had been reassuring, she feltnervous, and a trifle despondent. She did not like the country--thestillness even of village life got on her nerves. Still, Beechfield wasvery different from the horribly lonely house in Essex to which shenever returned willingly in her thoughts--though sometimes certainmemories of all that had happened there would thrust themselves upon her, refusing to be denied. 

Fortunately for the new occupant of The Trellis House, a certain type ofprettiness gives its lucky possessor an extraordinary sense of assuranceand tranquillity when dealing with the average man. Enid Crofton wasn'tquite sure, however, if Godfrey Radmore was an average man. He had nevermade love to her in those pleasant, now far-away days in Egypt, whenevery other unattached man did so. That surely proved him to be somewhatpeculiar. 

During the whole of her not very long life she had been petted andspoilt, admired and sheltered, by almost everyone with whom fate hadbrought her in contact. 

Enid Crofton's father had been a paymaster in the Royal Navy namedJoseph Catlin. After his death she and her mother had lived on inSouthsea till the girl was sixteen, when her mother had pronouncedher quite old enough to be "out. " Mrs. Catlin was still too attractiveherself to feel her daughter a rival, and the two years which hadfollowed had been delightful years to them both. Then something whichthey regarded as most romantic occurred. On the day Enid was eighteen, and her mother thirty-seven, there had been a double wedding, Mrs. Catlinbecoming the wife of a prosperous medical man, while Enid married a youngsoldier who had just come in for £4, 000, which he and his girl-wifeat once proceeded to spend. 

To-day, in spite of herself, her mind went back insistently to her firstmarriage--that marriage of which she never spoke, but of which she wasafraid she would have to tell Godfrey Radmore some day. She was shrewdenough to know that many a man in love with a widow would be surprisedand taken aback were he suddenly told that she had been married before, not once, but twice. 

Unknowingly to them both, the young, generous, devoted, lover-husband, towhom even now she sometimes threw a retrospective, kindly thought, haddone her an irreparable injury. He had opened to her the gates of amaterial paradise--the kind of paradise in which a young woman enjoys aconstant flow of ready money. Though she was quite unaware of it, it wasthose fifteen weeks spent on the Riviera, for the most part at MonteCarlo, which had gradually caused Enid to argue herself into the beliefthat she was justified in doing anything--_anything_ which mightcontribute to the renewal of that delicious kind of existence--the onlylife, from her point of view, worth living. 

Her first husband's death in a motor accident had left her practicallypenniless, as well as frightened and bewildered, and so she had committedthe mistake of marrying, almost at once, clever, saturnine ColonelCrofton, a man over thirty years older than herself. His mad passion haddied down like a straw-fed flame, and when there had come, like a boltfrom their already grey sky, the outbreak of War, it had been a godsendto them both. 

Colonel Crofton had at once stepped into what had seemed to them botha good income, with all sorts of delightful extras, and allowances, attached to it. And while he was in France, at the back of the Front, absorbed in his job, though resentful of the fact that he was not inthe trenches, Enid had shared a small flat in London with another youngand lonely wife. The two had enjoyed every moment of war-time London, dancing, flirting, taking part, by way of doing their bit, in everyform of the lighter kind of war charities, their ideal existence onlybroken by the occasional boredom of having to entertain their respectivehusbands when the latter were home on leave. 

Then had come the short interval in Egypt during which the Croftons hadmet Godfrey Radmore, and, after that for Enid, another delightful stretchof London life. 

She had felt it intolerable to go back to the old, dull life, on anincome which seemed smaller than ever with rising prices, and everythingsacrificed, or so it had seemed to her, to Colonel Crofton's new, dog-breeding hobby. She resented too, perhaps, more bitterly than sheknew herself, her husband's altered attitude to herself. From having beenpassionately, foolishly in love, he had become critical, and, what to herwas especially intolerable, jealous. For a time she had kept up with someof her war-time acquaintances, but there was a strain of curious timidityin her nature, and she grew afraid of Colonel Crofton. Even now, whenEnid Crofton, free at last, remembered those dreary months in the shabbylittle manor-house which Colonel Crofton had taken after the Armistice, she told herself, with a quickened pulse, that flesh and blood cannotstand more than a certain amount of dulness and discomfort. But sheseldom went back in thought to that hateful time. She had wanted toobliterate, as far as was possible, all recollection of the place whereshe had spent such unhappy months, and where had occurred the tragedyof her husband's death. And it would have been difficult to find twodwelling-houses more different than the lonely, austere-looking, FildyFe Manor, which stood surrounded by water-clogged fields, some twomiles from an unattractive, suburban Essex town, and the delightful, picturesque, cheerful-looking Trellis House which formed an integral partof a prosperous-looking and picturesque Surrey village. 

 * * * * *

At last Mrs. Crofton settled herself down into her low-ceilinged, squarelittle sitting-room, and, looking round at her new possessions, she toldherself that outwardly her new home was perfect. 

The Trellis House had been for a short time in the possession of aclever, modern architect who had done his best to restore the building towhat it must have been before it had been transformed, early in the 19thcentury, from a farm into a so-called gentleman's house. He had uncoveredthe old oak beams, stripped five layers of paper off the walls of theliving rooms, and laid bare what panelling there was--in fact he hadrestored the interior of the old building, while leaving the rose andclematis covered trellis which was on the portion of the house standingat right angles to the village street, and which gave it its name. 

In a sense it was too much like a stage picture to please a really finetaste. But to Enid Crofton it formed an ideal background for herattractive self. She had sold for very high prices the sound, solid, fine, 18th century furniture, which her husband had inherited, and withthe proceeds she had bought the less comfortable but to the taste of themoment, more attractive oak furnishings of The Trellis House. 

Enid Crofton was the kind of woman who acquires helpful admirers in everyprofession. The junior partner of the big firm of house-agents who haddisposed of the lease of Fildy Fe Manor had helped her in every waypossible, though he had been rather surprised and puzzled, consideringthat she knew no one there, at her determination to find a house in, ornear, the village of Beechfield. 

It was also an admirer, the only one who had survived from her warsojourn in Egypt--a cheery, happy, good-looking soldier, called Tremaine, now at home on leave from India--who had helped her in the actual task ofsettling in. Not that there had been much settling in to do--for thehouse had been left in perfect order by its last tenant. But CaptainTremaine had fetched her from the hotel where she had stayed in London;he had bought her first-class ticket (Enid always liked someone to payfor her); they had shared a delightful picnic lunch which he providedin the train; and then, finally, reluctantly, he had left The TrellisHouse--after a rather silly, tiresome, little scene, during which he hadvowed that she should marry him, even if it came to his kidnapping herby force!

While hoping and waiting, in nervous suspense, for Godfrey Radmore, shecast a tender thought to Bob Tremaine. Nothing, so she told herself witha certain vehemence, would induce her to marry him, for he had only £200a year beside his pay, and that, even in India, she believed would meanpoverty. Also she had been told that no woman remained really pretty inIndia for very long. But she was fond of Tremaine--he was "her sort, " andfar, far more her ideal of what a man should be than was the rich man shehad deliberately made up her mind to marry; but bitter experience hadconvinced Enid Crofton that money--plenty of money--was as necessary toher as the air she breathed. 

 * * * * *

Suddenly there broke on her ear the peal of an old-fashioned bell, followed by a short, sharp knock on the toy knocker of her front door. Enid started up, her face full of eagerness and pleasure; somethingseemed to tell her that it was--it must be--Radmore!

While the maid was going to the door, her mind worked quickly. Surely itwas very late for a call? He must have been wishing to see her as soon ashe possibly could, or he would never have managed to get away from OldPlace, and its many tiresome inmates. There came a mischievous smile overher face. Of one of those inmates, the rather priggish Jack Tosswill, shehad made a real conquest. Under some flimsy excuse he had come every day, always staying for a considerable time. This very morning he had not gonetill she had told him frankly that she only had lunch enough for one!

The door opened slowly, and her smile died away, giving place to atouching, pathetic expression. And then, instead of the tall, darkman she expected to see walk in, there advanced towards her a small, freckled-faced, fair-haired little boy--Timmy Tosswill, the child whomshe was already beginning to regard with something akin to real distaste. 

But Enid Crofton was never unpleasant in manner to anybody, and she evenforced herself to smile, as she exclaimed:--"I was not expecting avisitor so late, but I'm very pleased to see you all the same, MasterTimmy! How wonderful that you should have been able to reach my knocker. It's placed so very high up on the door--I think I must get it altered. "

"I didn't knock, " said Timmy shortly, "it was my godfather who knocked, Mrs. Crofton. "

And when Radmore followed his godson into the room he was surprised, evena little touched, at the warmth of Mrs. Crofton's greeting. 

She put out both her hands, "I _am_ glad to see you"--and then she added, characteristically, for truth was not in her, "I was afraid you wouldn'thave time to look me up for ever so long!"

But though Radmore was pleased by her evident joy in seeing him, helooked at her with a curiously critical eye. He was surprised to find herin a white frock--inclined, even, to be just a little bit shocked. 

And there was something else. Enid Crofton had enjoyed the War--she hadadmitted this just a little shamefacedly a week ago, when they two werehaving dinner together at the Savoy Grill, where she had been easily theprettiest woman in the room. At the time he had felt indulgently that itwas a good thing that someone should have gone through that awful timeuntouched by the pains and scars of war. But now everything seemeddifferent, somehow. Beechfield was a place of mourning, and in a placeof mourning this smiling, beautifully dressed, almost too pretty youngcreature looked out of place. Still that wasn't her fault, after all. 

As the three sat down, Timmy upset the narrow oak stool on which he hadplaced himself with a great clatter, and Radmore suddenly realised thathe had made a mistake in bringing the boy. For the first time since hisreturn to England he saw something like a frown gather on Mrs. Crofton'sface. Perhaps, unlike most nice women, she didn't like children?

"I'm awfully grateful to you for having told me about Beechfield, " sheexclaimed. "Although I've hardly been here a week, I do feel what adelightful place it is! Everybody is so kind and friendly. Why the veryfirst day I was here I was asked to supper at Old Place--and severalpeople have left cards on me already. What sort of a woman is Miss--" shehesitated, "Pendarth?"

Timmy and Radmore looked at one another, but neither spoke for a moment. Then Radmore answered, rather drily:--"In my time, Miss Pendarth was thegreatest gossip and busy-body within a radius of thirty miles. She mustbe an old woman now. "

"Oh, I don't think she would like you to call her that!" exclaimed Timmy, and both his grown-up auditors laughed. But Enid Crofton felt a littledisappointed, for on Miss Pendarth's card had been written the words:--"Ilook forward to making your acquaintance. I think I must have knownColonel Crofton many years ago. There was a Cecil Crofton who was a greatfriend of my brother's--they joined the Ninetieth on the same day. " Shehad rather hoped to find a kindly friend and ally in the still unknowncaller. 

And then, as if answering her secret thought, Radmore observedcarelessly:--"It's wrong to prejudice you against Miss Pendarth; I'veknown her do most awfully kind things. But she had what the Scotch calla 'scunner' against me when I was a boy. She's the sort of woman who'sa good friend and a bad enemy. "

"I must hope, " said his hostess softly, "that she'll be a good friend tome. At any rate, it was nice of her to come and call almost at once, wasn't it?"

"You've delightful quarters here, " observed Radmore. "The Trellis Housewas a very different place to this in my time; I can remember a hideous, cold and white wallpaper in this room--it looks twice as large as it didthen. "

"I found the things I sold made it possible for me to buy almosteverything in The Trellis House. Tappin & Edge say that I got a greatbargain. "

"Yes, " said Radmore hesitatingly, "I expect you did. "

But all the same he felt that his pretty friend had made a mistake, forhe remembered some of Colonel Crofton's furniture as having been verygood. In the bedroom in which he had slept at Fildy Fe Manor there hadbeen a walnut-wood tallboy of the best Jacobean period. That one piecemust certainly have been worth more than all the furniture in thisparticular room put together. 

Poor Enid Crofton! The call to which she had been looking forward sogreatly was not turning out a success. Godfrey Radmore seemed a verydifferent man here, in Beechfield, from what he had seemed in London. They talked in a desultory way, with none of the pleasant, cosy, intimacyto which she had insensibly accustomed him; and though Timmy remainedabsolutely quiet and silent after that unfortunate accident with thestool, his presence in some way affected the atmosphere. 

All at once Radmore asked:--"And where's Boo-boo? It's odd I neverthought of asking you in London, but somehow one expects to see a dog inthe country, even as highly civilised and smart a little dog as Boo-boo!"

"I sold her, " answered Mrs. Crofton, in a low, pained tone. "I got £40for her, and a most awfully good home. Still, " she sighed, "of course Imiss my darling little Boo--" and then a sharp tremor ran through her, for there suddenly fell on her ears the sound of a dog, howling. 

Now Enid Crofton did not believe that what she heard so clearly were realhowls, proceeding from a flesh-and-blood dog. She thought that her nerveswere betraying her, as they had a way of doing since her husband's death. Often when she fell asleep, there would come to her a strange andhorrible nightmare. It was such a queer, uncanny kind of dream for agrown-up woman to have! She used to dream that she was a rat--and thatColonel Crofton's own terrier, a fierce brute called Dandy, was afterher. 

"That's Flick! Perhaps I'd better go and let him out?" Timmy jumped upas he spoke. "I thought you didn't like dogs, Mrs. Crofton, and so I shutFlick up in your stable-yard. I expect he's got bored, being in thereall by himself, in the dark!"

The boy's words brought delicious relief, and then, all at once, shefelt unreasonably angry. How stupid of this odious little fellow to havebrought his horrid, savage dog with him--after what had happened theother night!

Timmy shot out of the room and so through the front door, and Radmore gotup too. "I'm afraid we ought to be going, " he said. 

His white-clad hostess came up close to him:--"It's so good of you tohave come to see me so soon, " she murmured. "Though I do like Beechfield, and the people here are awfully kind, I feel very forlorn, Mr. Radmore. Seeing you has cheered me up very much. I hope you'll come again soon. "

There fell on the still air the voice of Timmy talking to his dogoutside. Mrs. Crofton went quickly past Radmore into the tiny hall; sheshut the front door, which had been left ajar; and then she came back. 

"It's quite true that I don't like dogs!" she exclaimed. "Poor Cecil'sterriers got thoroughly on my nerves last winter. I sometimes dream ofthem even now. "

He looked at her, surprised, and rather concerned. Poor little woman!There were actually tears in her eyes. 

"Yes, " she went on, as if she could not help the words coming out, "that's the real reason I sold Boo-boo. I even felt as if my poor littleBoo-boo had turned against me. " There was a touch of excitement, almostof defiance, in her low voice, and Radmore felt exceedingly taken abackand puzzled. This was an Enid Crofton he had never met. "Come, come--youmustn't feel like that"--he took her hand in his and held it closely. 

She looked up at him and her eyes filled with tears, and then, suddenly, her heart began beating deliciously. She saw flash into his dark face alook she had seen flash into many men's faces, but never in his, tillnow--the excited, tender look that she had longed to see there. Sheswayed a little towards him; dropping her hand, he put out his arms--inanother moment, what she felt sure such a man as Radmore would haveregarded as irreparable would have happened, had not the door just behindthem burst open. 

They fell apart quickly, and Radmore, with a sudden revulsion offeeling--a sensation that he had been saved from doing a very foolishthing--turned to see his godson, Timmy Tosswill. 

Enid Crofton looked at Timmy, too, and if evil thoughts could kill, thechild would have fallen dead. But evil thoughts do not kill, and so allthat happened was that Timmy had a sudden, instinctive feeling that hemust account for his presence. 

Looking up into his godfather's face, he said breathlessly:--"The frontdoor was shut, so I came in, through the kitchen. It's ever so late, Godfrey--after half past seven. Dad _will_ be upset if you're not back tospeak to him before dinner!"

 * * * * *

As the two, the tall man and the short boy, walked away into thedarkness, Radmore was possessed by an extraordinary mixture of feelings. "You've had an escape! You've got well out of what would have been notonly a dangerous but an absurd situation, " so whispered a secret, innervoice. And yet there was a side of him which felt not only balked anddisappointed, but exasperated. .. 

"Do you ever think of people's faces when they're not there?" asked Timmysuddenly, and then, without waiting for an answer, he went on:--"When Ishut my eyes, before I go quite off to sleep, you know, I see a row offaces. Sometimes they're people I've never seen at all; but last night Ikept seeing Mrs. Crofton's face, looking just as it looked when Flick ranin and growled at her the other night. It was such an awful look--I don'tthink I shall ever forget it. "

As Radmore said nothing, the little boy asked another question: "Do youthink Mrs. Crofton pretty?" This time Timmy waited for an answer. 

"Yes, I think she's very pretty. But gentlemen don't discuss ladies andtheir looks, old boy. "

"Don't they? How stupid of them!" said Timmy. He added a little shyly, "Isuppose a gentleman may talk of his sister?"

Radmore turned hot in the darkness. Was Timmy going to say something ofBetty, and of that old, painful, now he hoped forgotten, episode? ButTimmy only observed musingly:--"You haven't seen Rosamund yet. Of coursewe never say so to her, because it might make her vain, but I do think, Godfrey, that she's very, _very_ pretty. "

And then, rather to his companion's discomfiture, his queer littlemind swung back to the woman to whose house they had just been. "Mrs. Crofton, " he observed, with an air of finality, "may be pretty, but she'sgot what I call a blotting-paper face. "

CHAPTER X

Radmore felt secretly relieved that he and Timmy got home too late forhim to see Mr. Tosswill alone before dinner. And when at last he camedown, just a minute or two late, for he had to do things for himself towhich he had become unaccustomed--unpacking his bag, putting out hisevening clothes, placing of studs in his evening shirt, and so on--hefound what looked to him like a large party of strangers all gatheredtogether in the dear old drawing-room. 

As he walked in among them he looked first with quick interest at thethree girls. Yes, Timmy was right--Rosamund was lovely. Dolly struck himas commonplace, though as a matter of fact she looked more attractivethan usual. Betty looked very hot--or was it that the exquisitecomplexion that once had been her chief physical beauty had gone?

After a moment or two Betty slipped out of the room, leaving Radmore andMr. Tosswill shaking hands quite cordially, if a little awkwardly. 

"Well, sir, here I am again, turned up just like a bad penny!" And hishost answered absently:--"Yes, yes, Godfrey--very glad to see you, I'msure. "

Then, after he had shaken hands with Janet and Tom, they all stoodtogether on the hearthrug waiting, so Radmore supposed, for theparlourmaid to come in and announce dinner. 

But instead of that happening, the door opened and Timmy appeared. "Willyou come into the dining-room? Everything's ready now. "

They all followed him, three of the younger ones--Tom, Dolly andRosamund--laughing and whispering together. Somehow Timmy neverassociated himself with those of his brothers and sisters nearest tohim in age. 

Radmore came last of all with Janet. He felt as if he were in a strange, unreal dream. It was all at once so like and so unlike what he hadexpected to find it. All these quiet, demure-looking young strangers, instead of the jolly, familiar children he had left nine years ago--and, as he realised with a sharp pang--no George. He had not known tillto-night how much he had counted on seeing George, or at least on hearingall about him. Instead, here was Jack, so very self-possessed--or was itsuperior?--in his smart evening jacket. He could hardly believe that Jackwas George's brother. 

For a moment he forgot Betty. Then he saw her come hurrying in. Hercolour had gone down, and she looked very charming, and yet--yes, astranger too. 

The table was laid very much as it had been in the old days on a Sunday, when they always had supper instead of dinner at Old Place. But to-daywas not Sunday--where could all the servants be?

Janet, looking very nice in the bright blue gown her little son hadadmired, placed the guest on her right hand. To her left, Timmy, with snorts and wriggles, settled himself. The others all sortedthemselves out; Betty sat the nearest to the door, on the right ofher father, --lovely Rosamund on his left. 

Timmy stood up and mumbled out a Latin grace. How it brought backRadmore's boyhood and early manhood days! But in those days it was Tom, a simple cherubic-looking little boy of seven, who said grace--the usual"For what we are going to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful!"The stranger--how queer to think he was a stranger here, in this familiarroom--did not care for the innovation. 

They all sat down, and Radmore began to eat his soup, served in a coveredcup. It was very good soup, and as he was rather tired and hungry, heenjoyed it. Then Timmy got up and removed the cup and its cover; andsuddenly the guest became aware that only four people at the table hadtaken soup--himself, Mr. Tosswill, Jack, and Timmy. What an odd thing!

They were all rather silent, and Radmore began to have a strange, uncannyfeeling that none of them could see him, that he was a wraith, projectedout of the past into the present. It was a novel and most disconcertingsensation. But no one glancing at his keen face, now illumined with ahalf humorous expression of interest, would have guessed the mixed andpainful feelings which possessed him. 

He stole a look to his left. Janet, in his eyes, was almost unchanged. Ofcourse she looked a thought older, a thought thicker--not so much in herupright figure, as in her clever, irregular-featured face. In the days ofhis early manhood she had never seemed to him to be very much older thanhimself--but now she looked a lifetime older than he felt. 

Only Mr. Tosswill looked absolutely unchanged. His mild benevolent face, his deep blue eyes, his grey hair, seemed exactly the same as whenRadmore had last sat down, in the Old Place dining-room, to a full table. That had been in the Christmas holidays of 1910. Very well he rememberedall that had happened then, for he and Betty had just become engaged. 

At nineteen Betty Tosswill had belonged to the ideal type ofold-fashioned English girlhood--high-spirited, cheerful, artless yetintelligent, with a strong sense of humour. She had worn a pink eveningfrock during those long-ago Christmas holidays, and had looked, at anyrate in her young lover's eyes, beautiful. 

They had been ardently, passionately in love, he a masterful, exactinglover, and though seeming older than his age, without any of themagnanimity which even the passage of only a very few years brings tomost intelligent men. Poor little Betty of long ago--what a child shehad been at nineteen!--but a child capable of deep and varied emotions. 

At the time of their parting he had been absorbed in his own selfishsensations of anger, revolt, and the sharp sense of loss, savagely gladthat she was unhappy too. But after he had gone, after he had plungedinto the new, to him exciting and curious, life of the great vesseltaking him to Australia, he had forced himself to put Betty out of hismind, and, after a few days, he had started a violent flirtation with themost attractive woman on board the liner. The flirtation had developed, by the time they reached Sydney, into a serious affair, and had been thedetermining cause why he had not written even to George. Godfrey Radmorehad not thought of that woman for years. But to-night her now hateful, meretricious image rose, with horrid vividness, before him. It had beenan ugly, debasing episode, and had dragged on and on, as such episodeshave a way of doing. 

Wrenching his mind free of that odious memory, he looked across at Betty. Yes, it was at once a relief and something of a disappointment to feelher, too, transformed into a stranger. For one thing she had had, whenhe had last seen her, a great deal of long fair hair. But she had cut itoff when starting her arduous war work, and the lack of it altered heramazingly, all the more that she did not wear her short hair "bobbed, " inwhat had become the prevailing fashion, but brushed back from her lowforehead, and staidly held in place by a broad, black, snood-like ribbon. 

He looked to his right, down the old-fashioned, almost square diningtable. Jack was the least changed, after his father, of the young peoplesitting at this table. Jack, nine years ago, had been a rather complacentboy, doing very well at school, the type of boy who is as if marked outby fate to do well in life. Yes, Jack had hardly changed at all, butRadmore, looking at Jack, felt a sudden intolerable jealousy forGeorge. .. . 

He came back with a start to what was going on around him, and idly hewondered what had happened to all the servants this evening. Truth totell he had been just a little surprised and taken aback at not findinghis bag unpacked and his evening clothes laid out before dinner. 

Timmy had slipped out of his chair and brought him a plateful of roastmutton, and now Rosamund was playing waitress, smiling at his elbow, alovely Hebe indeed, with dishes of potatoes and greens. He helped himselfa little awkwardly, while Timmy was taking round platefuls of meat to hisfather, to Jack, and finally one to his own little self. 

Then Betty went out of the room, and came back with a large dish ofmacaroni cheese, which she put on a side table. Jack got up and whisperedsomething to her rather angrily. He was evidently remonstrating with herfor not having allowed him to go and get the dish, for he motioned herrather imperiously back to her seat by her father, while he himself, calling to Dolly to help him, dealt out generous portions of macaronicheese to those who had not taken meat. 

All at once Timmy exclaimed in his shrill voice:--"I like macaronicheese. Why shouldn't I have a little to-day, too? Here, Tom, you takemy meat, and I'll have your macaroni cheese. " He did not wait for Tom'sassent to this peculiar proposal, and was proceeding to effect theexchange when Tom muttered crossly, while yet, or so Radmore fancied, casting rather longing eyes at Timmy's plate. 

"You know perfectly well you've got to have meat to drive the ghostiesout of your silly head. "

Timmy submitted with a grunt of disappointment, and the meal proceeded. Again Radmore felt surprised and puzzled. Was it conceivable that thewhole family--with the exception of Mr. Tosswill, Jack and Timmy, hadbecome so High Church that Friday was with them a meatless day?

CHAPTER XI

After her visitors had gone, Mrs. Crofton had come back slowly, languidly, to her easy-chair. 

It was too warm for a fire, yet somehow the fire comforted her, for shefelt cold as well as tired, and, yes, she could admit it to herself, horribly disappointed. How stupid men were--even clever men!

It was so stupid of Godfrey Radmore not to have come to see her, this thefirst time, alone. He might have found it difficult to have come withoutone of the Tosswill girls, but there was no reason and no excuse for hisbeing accompanied by that odious little Timmy. It was also really unkindof the boy to have brought his horrid dog with him. Even now she seemedto hear Flick's long-drawn-out howls--those horrible howls that at thetime she had not believed to be real. What a nervous, hysterical foolshe was becoming! How long would she go on being haunted by the nowfast-disappearing past?

There came back to Enid Crofton the very last words uttered by Piper, theclever, capable man who, after having been Colonel Crofton's batman inthe War, had become their general factotum in Essex:--"Don't you go andbe startled, ma'am, if you see the very spit of Dandy in this 'erevillage! As me and your new lad was cleaning out the stable-yard thismorning, a young gentleman came in with a dog as was 'is exact image. After a bit o'course, I remembered as what we'd sent one of Juno's andDandy's pups to a place called Beechfield this time last year--'tis thatpup grown into a dog without a doubt!"

It was certainly a bit of rank bad luck that there should be here, inBeechfield, a dog which, whenever she saw it, brought the image of herdead husband so vividly before her. 

She had just settled herself down, and was turning over the leaves of oneof the many picture papers which Tremaine had bought for her on theirjolly little journey on the day of her arrival at The Trellis House, whenthere came a ring at the door. 

Who could it be coming so late--close to seven o'clock? Enid Crofton gotup, feeling vaguely disturbed. 

The new maid brought in a reply-paid telegram, and Mrs. Crofton toreopen the orange envelope with just a faint premonition that somethingdisagreeable was going to happen:--"May I come and stay with you for theweek-end? Have just arrived in England. Alice Crofton. "

Thank Heaven she had been wrong as to her premonition! This portendednothing disagreeable--only something unexpected. The sender of thistelegram was the kind, opulent sister-in-law whom she always thought ofas "Miss Crofton. "

Going over to her toy writing-table, she quickly wrote on the reply-paidform:--"Miss Crofton, Buck's Hotel, Dover Street. Yes, delighted. Do cometo-morrow morning. Excellent eleven o'clock train from Waterloo. --Enid. "

As she settled herself by the fire she told herself that a visit fromMiss Crofton might be quite a good thing--so far as Beechfield wasconcerned. Her associations with her husband's sister were whollypleasant. For one thing, Alice Crofton was well off, and Enidinstinctively respected, and felt interested in, any possessor of money. What a pity it was that Colonel Crofton had not had a fairy godmother!His only sister had been left £3, 000 a year by a godmother, and she livedthe agreeable life so many Englishwomen of her type and class live on theContinent. While her real home was in Florence, she often travelled, andduring the War she had settled down in Paris, giving many hours of eachday to one of the British hospitals there. 

The young widow's mind flew back to her one meeting with Alice Crofton. It was during her brief engagement to Colonel Crofton, and the latter'ssister, without being over cordial, had been quite pleasant to thestartlingly pretty little woman, who had made such a fool of her brother. 

But at the time of Colonel Crofton's death, his sister had been trulykind. She had telegraphed £200 to her sister-in-law from Italy, and thissum of ready money had been very useful during that tragic week--and evenafterwards, for the insurance people had made a certain amount of fussafter Colonel Crofton's sad suicide, "while of unsound mind, " and thishad caused a disagreeable delay. 

The new tenant of The Trellis House had her lonely dinner brought in toher on a tray, and then, perhaps rather too soon--for she was not much ofa reader, and there was nothing to while away the time--she went upstairsto her pleasant, cosy bedroom, and so to bed. 

But, try as she might, she found it impossible to fall asleep; for whatseemed to her hours she lay wide awake, tossing this way and that. Atlast she got up, and, drawing aside the chintz curtain across one of thewindows, she looked out. The window was open, and in the eerily brightmoonlight the upper part of the hill on which Beechfield village layseemed spread before her. There were twinkling lights in many of thewindows--doubtless groups of happy, cheerful people behind them. Shefelt horribly lonely and depressed as well as wide awake to-night. 

In her short, healthy life, Enid Crofton had only had one attack ofinsomnia. During the ten days that had followed her husband's suddendeath--for the inquest had had to be put off for a day or two--shehad hardly slept at all, and the doctor who had been so kind a friendduring that awful time, had had to give her a strong narcotic. To hisastonishment it had had no effect. She had felt as if she were goingmad--the effect, so he had told her afterwards, of the awful shock shehad had. 

To-night she wondered with a kind of terror whether that terriblesleeplessness which had ended by making her feel almost lightheaded wascoming back. 

She turned away from the window, and, getting into bed again, tried tocompose her limbs into absolute repose, as the doctor had advised her todo. And then, just as she was mercifully going to sleep, there floatedin, through the open window, a variant on a doggerel song she had lastheard in Egypt:--

 "The angels sing-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling, They've got the goods for me. The bells of hell ring ting-a-ling-a-ling For you, as you shall see. "

Enid Crofton sat up in bed. She felt suddenly afraid--horribly, desperately afraid. As is often the case with those who have drifted awayfrom any form of religion, she was very superstitious, and terrified ofevil omens. During the War she had been fond of going first to one andthen to another of the fashionable sooth-sayers. 

They had all agreed as to one thing--this was that her husband would die, and of course she had thought he would be killed at the Front. But he hadcome through safe and sound, and more--more _hateful_ than ever. 

One fortune-teller, a woman, small, faded, commonplace-looking, yet withsomething sinister about her that impressed her patrons uncomfortably, had told Enid Crofton, with a curious smile, that she would have yetanother husband, making the third. This had startled her very much, forthe woman, who did not even know her name, could only have guessed thatshe had been married twice. Enid Crofton was not given to makingunnecessary confidences. With the exception of her sister-in-law, none ofthe people who now knew her were aware that Colonel Crofton had been hersecond husband. 

She lay down again, and in the now dying firelight, fixed her eyes on thechintz square of the window curtain nearest to her. She shut her eyes, but, as always happens, there remained a square luminous patch on theirretinas. And then, all at once, it was as if she saw, depicted on thewhite, faintly illuminated space, a scene which might have figured in oneof those cinema-plays to which she and her house-mate, during those happydays when she had lived in London, used so often to go with one or otherof their temporary admirers. 

On the white, luminous background two pretty little hands were movingabout, a little uncertainly, over a window-ledge on which stood a row ofmedicine bottles. Then, suddenly the two pretty hands became engaged indoing something which is done by woman's hands every day--the pouring ofa liquid from one bottle into another. 

Enid Crofton did not visualise the owner of the hands. She had no wish todo so, but she did see the hands. 

Then there started out before her, with astonishing vividness, anotherlittle scene--this time with a man as central figure. He was whistling;that she knew, though she could not hear the whistling. It was owing tothat surprised, long-drawn-out whistling sound that the owner of thepretty hands had become suddenly, affrightedly, aware that someone wasthere, outside the window, staring down, and so of course seeing the taskon which the two pretty little hands were engaged. 

Now, the owner of that pair of now shaking little hands had felt quitesure that no one could possibly see what they were engaged in doing--forthe window on the ledge of which the medicine bottles were standinglooked out on what was practically a blank wall. But the man whose long, surprised whistle had so suddenly scared her, happened at that moment tobe sitting astride the top of the blank wall, engaged in the legitimateoccupation of sticking bits of broken bottles into putty. The man wasPiper, and doubtless the trifling incident had long since slipped hismind, for that same afternoon his master, Colonel Crofton, had committedsuicide in a fit of depression owing to shell shock. 

Enid Crofton opened her eyes wide, and the sort of vision, ornightmare--call it what you will--faded at once. 

It was a nightmare she had constantly experienced during the first fewnights which had succeeded her husband's death. But since the inquest shehad no longer been haunted by that scene--the double scene of the hands, the pretty little hands, engaged in that simple, almost mechanical, action of pouring the contents of one bottle into another, and the visionof the man on the wall looking down, slantwise, through the window, anduttering that queer, long-drawn-out whistle of utter surprise. 

When at last Mrs. Crofton had had to explain regretfully to clever, capable Piper that she could no longer afford to keep him on, they hadparted the best of friends. She had made him the handsome present oftwenty-five pounds, for he had been a most excellent servant to her latehusband. And she had done more than that. She had gone to a good deal oftrouble to procure him an exceptionally good situation. Piper had justgone there, and she hoped, rather anxiously, that he would do well in it. 

The man had one serious fault--now and again he would go off and have agood "drunk. " Sometimes he wouldn't do this foolish, stupid thing formonths, and then, perchance, he would do it two weeks running! ColonelCrofton, so hard in many ways, had been indulgent to this one fault, orvice, in an otherwise almost perfect servant. When giving Piper a veryhigh character Mrs. Crofton had just hinted that there had been a timewhen he had taken a drop too much, but she had spoken of it as beingabsolutely in the past. Being the kind of woman she was, she wouldn'thave said even that, had it not been that Piper had got disgracefullydrunk within a week of his master's death. She had been very muchfrightened then, though not too frightened to stay, herself, withinhail of the man till he had come round, and to make him a cup of strongcoffee. When, at last, he was fit to do so, he had uttered broken wordsof gratitude, really touched at her kindness, and frightfully ashamed ofhimself. 

Lying there, wide awake, in the darkness and utter stillness ofBeechfield village, Enid Crofton reminded herself that she had treatedPiper very well. In memory of the master whom he had served she had alsogiven him, before selling off her husband's kennel, two prize-winners. But it is sometimes a mistake to be too kind, for on receiving this lastgenerous gift the man had hinted that with a little capital he could setup dog-breeding for himself! She had had to tell him, sadly but firmly, that she could not help him to any ready money, and Piper had been whatshe now vaguely described to herself as "very nice" about it, thoughobviously disappointed. 

At the end of their little chat, however, he had said something which hadmade her feel rather uncomfortable:--"I was wondering, ma'am, whetherMajor Radmore might perhaps be inclined for a little speculation? Iwouldn't mind paying, say, up to ten per cent, if 'e'd oblige me witha loan of five hundred pounds. "

She had been astonished at the suggestion--astonished and unpleasantlytaken aback. He had surprised her further by going on:--"I believe aswhat the Major is coming 'ome soon, ma'am. Perhaps then I might ventureto ask you to say a word for me? Major Radmore was known in the regimentas a very kind gentleman. "

"I'll do what I can, Piper. " She had said the words with apparentearnestness, but, deep in her heart, she had thought the request totallyunreasonable. 

And now it was this conversation which came back to her as she movedrestlessly about in her bed. She wondered uneasily whether she had madea mistake. Her capital was very small, and she was now living on hercapital, but after all, perhaps it would have been wiser to have givenPiper that £500. She was quite determined not to mix up Piper withGodfrey Radmore, but she had a queer, uncomfortable feeling that she hadnot done with this man yet. 

At last she fell into a heavy, troubled, worried sleep--the kind of sleepfrom which a woman always wakes unrefreshed. 

But daylight brought comfort to Enid Crofton, and after she had had herearly cup of tea and had enjoyed her nice hot bath, she felt quite cheeryagain, and her strange, bad night faded into nothingness. She was young, she was strong, above all she was enchantingly pretty! She told herselfconfidently that nothing terrible, nothing _really_ dreadful ever happensto a woman who is as attractive as she knew herself to be to the sexwhich still holds all the material power there is to hold in this strangeworld. 

During the last three weeks, she had sometimes wondered uneasily whetherGodfrey Radmore realised how very pretty she was. There was something socuriously impersonal about him--and yet last night he had very nearlykissed her!

She laughed aloud, gaily, triumphantly, as she went down to her latebreakfast. 

CHAPTER XII

At the moment that Enid Crofton was telling herself that everything wasgoing fairly well with her, and that nothing could alter the fact thatshe was now, and likely to remain for a long time, a woman likely toattract every man with whom she came in contact--Godfrey Radmore, following Janet Tosswill after breakfast into the drawing-room of OldPlace, exclaimed deprecatingly:--"I feel like Rip Van Winkle!'

"Do you?" She turned to him and smiled a little sadly. "It's _you_ thathave changed, Godfrey. Everything here is much the same. As for me, Inever see any change from one year to another. "

"But they've all grown up!" he exclaimed plaintively. "You can't thinkhow odd it seems to find a lot of grown-up young ladies and gentlemeninstead of the jolly little kids who were in the nursery with Nanna nineyears ago. By the way, Nanna hasn't changed, and"--he hesitated, thenbrought out with an effort, "Mr. Tosswill is exactly the same. "

She felt vexed that he hadn't included Betty. To her step-mother's fondeyes Betty was more attractive now than in her early girlhood. "I thinkthe children have improved very much, " she said quickly. "Jack was ahorrid little prig nine years ago!"

She hadn't forgiven Radmore. And yet, in a sense, she was readjusting herviews and theories about him, for the simple reason that he, GodfreyRadmore, had changed so utterly. From having been a hot-tempered, untameable, high-spirited boy, he was now, or so it seemed to her, acool, restrained man of the world, old for his years. In fact it was hewho was now a stranger--but a stranger who had most attractive manners, and who had somehow slipped very easily into their everyday life. Janetliked his deferential manner to the master of the house, she enjoyed hiskindly and good-humoured, if slightly satirical dealings with Jack andwith pretty Rosamund, and she was very grateful to him for the way hetreated queer, little Timmy, her own beloved changeling child. 

And now something happened that touched her, and made her suddenly feelas if she was with the old Godfrey Radmore again. 

"Look here, " he said, in a low, hesitating voice, "I want to tell you, Janet, that I didn't know till yesterday about George. You'll think me afool--but somehow I always thought of him as being safe in India. " Andthen with sudden passion he asked:--"How can you say that everything isthe same in Old Place with George not here? Why, to me, George was asmuch part of Old Place as--as Betty is!"

"We all thought you knew--at least I wasn't sure. "

"Thank God _he_ didn't think so poorly of me as that, " he muttered, andthen he looked away, his eyes smarting with unshed tears. "Nothing willever be the same to me again without George in the world. "

As she said nothing, he went on with sudden passion:--"Every othercountry in Europe has changed utterly since the War, but England seemedto me, till last night, exactly the same--only rather bigger and morebustling than nine years ago. " He drew a long breath. "Timmy and I wentinto the post-office last evening, and Cobbett asked me to go in, and seehis wife. I thought I remembered her so well--and when I saw her, Janet, I didn't know her! Then I asked after her boys--and she told me. "

"It's strange that a man who went through it all himself should feel likethat, " she said slowly. 

The door opened suddenly and Rosamund's pretty head appeared: "There's amessage come through saying that your car's all right, and that it willbe along in about an hour, " she exclaimed joyfully. To Rosamund, GodfreyRadmore was in very truth a stranger, and a very attractive stranger atthat. 

As a rule, after breakfast, all the young people went their various ways, but this morning they were all hanging about waiting vaguely for Godfreyto come and do something with one or all of them. Rosamund was longing toask him whether he knew any of the London theatrical managers; Tom waswondering whether Godfrey would allow him to drive his car; Dolly andTimmy, as different in everything else as two human beings could wellbe, each desired to take him into the village and show him off to theirfriends. The only one of the young people who was not really interestedin Radmore was Jack Tosswill. He was engaged just now in lookingfeverishly for an old gardening book which he had promised to lend Mrs. Crofton, and he was cursing under his breath because the book had beenmislaid. 

As Rosamund looked in, her step-mother and Radmore both stopped speakingabruptly, and so after a doubtful moment, she withdrew her head, and shutthe door behind her. 

"Tell me about George, " he said, without looking at her. 

"I think Betty would like to tell you, " she answered slowly: "Ask herabout him some time when you're alone together. "

"Where is she now?" he asked abruptly. 

"In the kitchen I think--but she won't be long. "

Jack, looking ruffled and uneasy, very unlike his quiet, cool self, burstinto the room. "I can't think where that old shabby green gardening bookhas gone, Janet. Do you know where it is?"

"You mean 'Gardening for Ladies'?"

"Yes. "

"What on earth d'you want it for?"

"For Mrs. Crofton. Her garden's been awfully neglected. "

"I'll find it presently. I think it's in my bedroom. "

Again the door shut, and Janet turned to Radmore: "Your friend has madea conquest of Jack!" She spoke with a touch of rather studied unconcern, for she had been a little taken aback last evening when Timmy had toldher casually of his own and his godfather's call at The Trellis House. 

"My friend?" Radmore repeated uncertainly. 

"I mean Mrs. Crofton. The coming of a new person to live in Beechfield isstill quite an event, Godfrey. "

"I don't think she'll make much difference to Beechfield, " again he spokewith a touch of hesitation. "To tell you the truth, Janet, I ratherwonder that she decided to live in the country at all. I should havethought that she would far prefer London, and all that London stands for. But I'm afraid that she's got very little money, and, of course, thecountry _is_ cheaper than town, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is. But Mrs. Crofton can't be poor. I know she paid apremium for the lease of The Trellis House. "

"That's odd. " Radmore spoke in an off-hand manner, but Janet, watchinghim, thought he felt a little awkward. He went on:--"I know that ColonelCrofton was hard up. He told me so, quite frankly, the last time I sawhim. But of course she may have had money of her own. "

Janet looked at him rather hard. A disagreeable suspicion had entered hermind. She wondered whether there was anything like an "understanding"between the man she was talking to and the tenant of The Trellis House. If so, she wished with all her heart that Godfrey Radmore had kept away. Why stir up embers they had all thought were dead, if he was going tomarry this very pretty but, to her mind, second-rate little woman, assoon as a decent time had elapsed?

"What are your plans for the future?" she asked. "Are you going to settledown, or are you going to travel a bit?" ("After all, he won't be able tomarry Mrs. Crofton for at least another six months, " she said toherself. )

"Oh, I mean to settle down. " His answer was quick, decisive, final. 

He went on: "My idea is to find a place, not too far from here, thatI can buy; and my plan is to go about and look for it now. That's whyI've hired a motor for a month. Perhaps you'd lend me Timmy, and, if itwouldn't be improper, one of the girls, now and again? We might go roundand look about a bit. "

And then he walked across to where she was standing, and put his hand onher arm, "How about you?" he asked, "why shouldn't I take you and Timmy alittle jaunt just for a week or so--that would be rather fun, eh?"

She smiled and shook her head. 

He took a step back. "Look here, Janet--do try and forgive me--I'm a moresensible chap than I was, honest Injun!"

"I'm beginning to think you are, " she cried, and then they both burst outlaughing. 

He lingered a moment. He was longing, longing intensely, to ask hercertain questions. He wanted to know about Betty--what sort of a lifeBetty had made for herself. He still, in an odd way, felt responsiblefor Betty--which was clearly absurd. 

And then Janet Tosswill said something that surprised him very much. "Ithink you'd better go round and see some of the people in the villageto-day. I was rather sorry you went off straight to The Trellis Houselast evening. You know how folks talked, even in the old days, inBeechfield?"

He looked uneasy--taken aback, and she felt, if a little ashamed, gladthat she had made that "fishing" remark. 

There was a pause, and then he said with a touch of formality: "Lookhere, Janet? I'd like you to know that though I've become quite fond ofMrs. Crofton, I'm only fond--nothing more, you understand? Perhaps I'llmake my meaning clearer when I tell you that I was the only man in Egyptwho knew her who wasn't in love with her. "

He saw her face change and, rather piqued, he asked: "Did you think Iwas?"

"I thought that you and she were great friends--"

"Well, so we are in a way. I saw a great deal of her in London. "

"And you went straight off to see her the moment you arrived here. "

"Well, perhaps I was foolish to do that. "

What an odd admission to make. He certainly had changed amazingly in thelast nine years!

Then it was Janet who surprised him: "Don't make any mistake, " she saidquickly. "There's no reason in the world why you shouldn't marry Mrs. Crofton--after a decent interval has elapsed. All I meant to say--andI'd rather say it right out now--is that as most people know that herhusband hasn't been dead more than a few weeks, you ought to be rathercareful, all the more careful if--if your friendship should come toanything, Godfrey. "

"But it won't!" he exclaimed, with a touch of the old heat, "indeed itwon't, Janet. To tell you the truth, I don't think I shall ever marry. "

"_I_ certainly shouldn't if I were a rich bachelor, " she said laughing;and yet somehow what he had just said hurt her. 

As for Radmore, he felt just a little jarred by her words. Had she quiteforgotten all that had happened in that long ago which, in a sense, seemed to belong to another life? He hadn't, and since his arrivalyesterday certain things had come back in a rushing flood of memory. 

"I've something to do in the garden now. " Janet was smiling--she reallydid feel perhaps rather absurdly relieved. Like Timmy, she didn't carefor Mrs. Crofton, and the mere suspicion that Godfrey Radmore had comeback here to Old Place in order to carry on a love affair had disturbedher. 

"By the way, how's McPherson?" he asked abruptly. "He _is_ a splendidgardener and no mistake! I've never seen a garden looking more beautifulthan yours does just now, Janet. I woke early this morning and lookedout of my window. I suppose McPherson's about--I'll go out and speak tohim. "

Her face shadowed. "McPherson, " she said slowly, "was one of the firstmen to leave Beechfield. He was perfectly fit, and he made up his mind togo at once. You know, Godfrey--or perhaps you don't know--that the Scotchglens emptied first of men?"

"D'you mean. .. ?"

She nodded. "He was killed at the second battle of Ypres. He was sent tothe Front rather sooner than most, for he was a very intelligent man, andreally keen. I've got a boy now, a lad of seventeen--not half a bad sort, but it does seem strange to give him every Saturday just double the moneyI used to give McPherson!"

She went out, through into the garden, on these last words, and againthere came over Radmore a feeling of poignant sadness. How strange thathe should have spent those weeks in London, knowing so little, nay, notknowing at all, what the War had really meant to the home country. 

He opened the door into the corridor, and listened, wondering where theyhad all gone. He had some business letters to write, and he told himselfthat he would go and get them done in what he still thought of in hismind as George's room. He had noticed that the big plain deal writingtable was still there. 

He went upstairs, and when he opened the bedroom door, he was astonishedto find Rosamund kneeling in front of George's old play-box, routingamong what looked like a lot of papers and books. 

"I'm hunting for a prescription for father, " she said, looking up. "Timmythinks he put it in here one day after coming back from the chemist's atGuildford. " She looked flushed, and decidedly cross, as she went on: "Noone's taught Timmy to put things in their proper place, as we were taughtto do, when we were children!"

Radmore felt amused. She certainly was very, very pretty, and did notlook much more than a child herself. 

"Look here, " he said good-naturedly, "let me help. I don't think you'regoing the right way to work. " He felt just a little bit sorry for Timmy;Rosamund was raking about as if the play-box was a bran-pie. 

Bending down he took up out of the box a bundle of envelopes, copybooks, and Christmas cards. Then he sat himself down on a chair in the window, and began going through what he held, carefully and methodically. 

Suddenly through the open door there came a cry of "Miss Rosamund, I wantyou!"

Rosamund got up reluctantly. "Nanna's a regular tyrant!"

"Leave all this to me, " he said. "I'll find the prescription if it'shere. "

She went off, and almost at once he came to a folded bit of paper. Perhaps this was the prescription? He opened it, and this is what heread:--

 March 12, 1919. This is the happiest day of my life. One of my godmothers has died and left me £50. I am going to buy two nanny-goats, a boy and a girl. They will have kids, and I shall make munny. We shall then have a propper cook, and I shall never help Betty wash up any more. I wish my other godmother would die. She is very genrus and kind--she would go strait to Heaven. But she is very hellfy. 

Poor little Timmy! Dear little unscrupulous child of nature! Would Timmywish him, Godfrey Radmore, dead, if some accident were to reveal to himwhat a great difference it would make to them all? He hoped not. But hecouldn't feel sure, for, from being well-to-do the Tosswills must havebecome poor, painfully and, to his mind, unnaturally poor. 

Further search proved the prescription was not in the play-box, and hewent downstairs. Still that same unnatural silence through the house. Where could Timmy be? Somehow he felt that he wanted to see Timmy andfind out about the nanny-goats. He feared his godson's expectations ofwealth had not been fulfilled, but he supposed that there was a "proppercook, " probably the lack of her had been quite temporary. 

He wandered into the drawing-room. In the old days all five sitting-roomshad been in use. Now four of them were closed, and the drawing-room waseverybody's meeting place. Dolly was there working a carpet-sweeperlanguidly. 

"Where's everybody?" he asked. 

"I think Betty and Timmy are still in the scullery. I don't know whereRosamund is. "

"I suppose _I_ can go into the scullery?"

She looked at him dubiously. "Yes, if you'd like to--certainly. Bettyloves cooking and all that sort of thing. I hate it--so in our divisionof labour, I do the other kind of housework. " She looked ruffled and hetold himself, a little maliciously, that she was not unlike a lazy, rather incompetent, housemaid. "If it's Timmy you want, " she continued, "I'll go and see if he can come. "

"Please don't trouble. I'll find him all right. "

Radmore went out into the passage. As the baize door, which shut off thekitchen quarters, opened, he saw his godson and Rosamund before they sawhim, and he heard Rosamund say, in a cross tone: "It only means thatsomeone else will have to help her; I think it's very selfish of you, Timmy. "

From being full of joy Timmy's face became downcast and sullen. 

"Hullo!" Radmore called out, "I want you to show me the garden, Timmy. Where's Betty?"

"She's in the scullery, of course. I tell you I _have_ done, Rosamund. You _are_ a cruel pig--"

"Come, Timmy, don't speak to your sister like that. "

It ended in the three of them going off--Rosamund to look for theprescription, and the other two into the garden. 

 * * * * *

Nanna waddled into the scullery: "I'll wipe up them things, MissBetty, " she said good-naturedly; "you go out to Mr. Godfrey and MasterTimmy--they was asking for you just now. "

Betty hesitated--and then suddenly she made up her mind that, yes, shewould do as Nanna suggested. 

In early Victorian days women of Betty Tosswill's class and kind workedmany of their most anxious thoughts and fears, hopes and fancies, intothe various forms of needlework which were then considered the onlysuitable kind of occupation for a young gentlewoman; and often Betty, when engaged on the long and arduous task of washing up for her bigfamily party, pondered over the problems and secret anxieties whichassailed her. Though something of a pain, it had also been to her a greatrelief to realise that the living flesh and blood Godfrey Radmore ofto-day had ousted the passionately devoted, if unreasonable and violent, lover of her early girlhood. In the old days, intermingled with her deeplove of Radmore, there had been a protective, almost maternal, feeling, and although Radmore had been four years older than herself, she hadalways felt the older of the two. But now, in spite of the responsible, anxious work she had done in France during the War, she felt that therôles were reversed, and that her one-time lover had become infinitelyolder than she was herself in knowledge of the world. 

Old Nanna hoped that Miss Betty would go upstairs and change her plaincotton dress for something just a little prettier and that she would puton, maybe, a hat trimmed with daisies which Nanna admired. But Betty didnothing of the sort. She washed her hands at the sink, and then she wentout into the hall, and taking up her big plain old garden hat wentstraight out into the keen autumnal air. 

And then, as she caught sight of the tall man and of the little boy, she stayed her steps, overwhelmed by a flood of both sweet and bittermemories. 

During the year which had followed the breaking of her engagement therehad been corners and by-ways of the big, rambling old garden filled withpoignant, almost unbearable, associations of the days when she andGodfrey had been lovers. There had been certain nooks and hidden oaseswhere it had been agony to go. She had considered all kinds of things asbeing possible. Perhaps her most certain conviction had been that hewould come back some day with a wife whom she, Betty, would try to teachherself to love; but never had she visioned what had now actuallyoccurred, that is Radmore's quiet, commonplace falling-back into theday-to-day life of Old Place. 

All at once she heard Timmy's clear treble voice:--"Hullo! There'sBetty. "

Radmore turned and said something Betty did not hear, and the child wentoff like an arrow from the bow. Then Radmore, turning, came towards herquickly. She had no clue to the strange look of pain and indecision onhis face, and her heart began to beat, strangely. 

When close to her:--"Betty, " he said in a low voice, "I want to tell youthat I didn't know about George till last night. How could you think Idid?"

"I suppose one does think unjust things when one's in great trouble, " sheanswered. 

He felt hurt and angry and showed it. "I should have thought you wouldall have known me well enough to know that I should have written atonce--at once. Why, the whole world's altered now that I know that Georgeis no longer in it! Perhaps that sounds foolish and exaggerated, as Inever wrote to him. But I think _you'll_ know what I mean, Betty? It wasall right, as long as I knew he was somewhere, happy. "

She said almost inaudibly:--"I think that he is happy somewhere. Youknow--but no, you don't know--that George was a born soldier. Thosemonths after he joined up, and until he was killed, were, I do believe, by far the happiest of his life. He always said they were. "

As he made no answer she went on:--"I'll show you some of his lettersif you like, and father will show you the letters that were sent tous--afterwards. "

By now they had left the garden proper, and were walking down an avenuewhich was known as the Long Walk. It was here that they two, with Georgealways as a welcome third, used to play "tip and run" and "hide and seek"with the then little children. 

"Tell me something about the others, " he said abruptly. "I'm moving in aworld unrealised. "

She smiled up into his face. Somehow that confession touched her, andbrought them nearer to one another. 

"Jack frightens me a bit, you know--he's so unlike George. And then thegirls? Is it true what Timmy says--that Rosamund wants to be an actress?"

There was a slight tone of censorious surprise in his voice, and Bettyreddened. 

"I don't see why she shouldn't be an actress if she wants to be! Father'smaking her wait till she's twenty-one. "

"Let me see, " he said hesitatingly, "Dolly's older than Jack, isn't she?"

"Oh, no. Dolly will only be twenty next Thursday. "

There came over her an overwhelming impulse to tell him something--thesort of thing she could only have told George. 

"You know that pretty old church at Oakford?"

He nodded. 

"Well, Mr. Runsby is dead. They've got a bachelor clergyman now, andJanet and I think that he's becoming very fond of Dolly! He's away justnow, or you would have already seen him. He's very often over here. "

"I should have thought--" He hesitated in his turn, but already he wasfalling again into the way of saying exactly what he thought right out toBetty--"that with you and Rosamund in the house, no one would look atDolly!"

Betty blushed, and for a fleeting moment Godfrey saw the blushing, dimpling Betty of long ago. 

"Rosamund has the utmost contempt for him. As for me, he never seesme--I'm always in the kitchen when he comes here. " She added with a touchof the quiet humour he remembered, "I don't think Dolly's in any dangerfrom me!"

"_Why_ are you always in the kitchen, Betty?" he asked. "Is it reallynecessary?"

"Yes, it really is necessary, " she answered frankly. "Father's got muchpoorer, and everything's about a hundred times as dear as it was beforethe War. But you mustn't think that I mind. I like it in a way--and itwon't last for ever. Some of father's investments are beginning torecover a little even now, and prices are coming down--"

They had now come back to the garden end of the Long Walk. "I must gonow, " she said. "Would you like me to send out one of the girls toentertain you?"

He shook his head. "No, I think I'll stroll about the village for a bit. "

They both felt as if the first milestone of their new relationship hadbeen set deep in the earth, and both were glad and relieved that it wasso. 

Radmore walked about a bit, admiring Janet's autumnal herbaceous borders, and then he remembered a door that he had known of old which led from thebig kitchen garden into the road. If it was open he could step outwithout walking across the front of the house. 

He turned into the walled garden, and walked quickly down a well-keptpath past the sun-dial to the door. It was open. He walked through it, and then, with a rather guilty feeling--a feeling he did not care toanalyse--he made his way round the lower half of the village till hereached the outside wall of The Trellis House. 

There he hesitated for a few moments, but even while he was hesitating heknew that he would go in. Before he could turn the handle the door in thegarden wall was opened by Enid Crofton herself. Radmore was surprised tosee that she was dressed in a black dress, with the orthodox plain linencollar and cuffs of widowhood. It altered her strangely. 

He was at once disappointed and a little relieved also, to find JackTosswill in the garden with her. But soon the three went indoors, andthen, as had often been Mrs. Crofton's experience with admirers in thepast, each man tried to sit the other out. 

At last the hostess had to say playfully:--"I'm afraid I must turn youout now, for I'm expecting my sister-in-law, Miss Crofton. "

And then they both, together, took their departure; Radmore feeling thathe had wasted an hour which might have been so very much more profitablyspent in going to see some of his old friends among the cottagers. As toJack Tosswill, he felt perplexed, and yes, considerably put out andannoyed. He had been a good deal taken aback to see how close was theacquaintance between Mrs. Crofton and Godfrey Radmore. 

CHAPTER XIII

There is nothing like a meal, especially a good meal, for inducingbetween two people an agreeable sense of intimacy. When Enid Crofton andher elderly sister-in-law passed from the dining-room of The TrellisHouse into the gay-looking little sitting-room, with its old-fashioned, brightly coloured chintz furnishings, and quaint reproductions ofeighteenth-century prints, the two ladies were far more at ease the onewith the other than before luncheon. 

Enid, in the plain black woollen gown, with its white linen collar andcuffs, which she had discarded almost at once after her husband'sfuneral, felt that she was producing a pleasant impression. As they satdown, one on each side of the cheerful little wood fire, and begansipping the excellent coffee which the mistress of the house had alreadytaught her very plain cook to make as it should be made, she suddenlyexclaimed:--

"I do want to thank you again for the money you sent me when poor Cecildied! It was most awfully good of you, and very useful, too, for theinsurance people did not pay me for nearly a month. "

These words gave her visitor an opening for which she had waited duringthe last hour: "I'm glad my present was so opportune, " said Miss Croftonin her precise, old-fashioned way. "As we have mentioned money, I shouldlike to know, my dear, how you are situated? I was afraid from somethingCecil told me last time he and I met that you would be very poorly left. "

She stopped speaking, and there followed a long pause. Enid Crofton wasinstinctively glad that she was seated with her back to the window. Shewas afraid lest her face should betray her surprise and discomfiture atthe question. And yet, what more natural than that her well-to-do, kind-hearted sister-in-law should wish to know how she, Enid, was nowsituated?

Cecil Crofton's widow was not what ordinary people would have called aclever woman, but during the whole of her short life she had studied howto please, cajole, and yes--deceive, the men and women about her. Unfortunately for her, Alice Crofton was a type of woman with whom shehad never before been brought in contact; and something deep within hertold her that she had better stick as close to the truth as wasreasonably possible with this shrewd spinster who was, in some ways, sodisconcertingly like what Enid Crofton's late husband had been, in thedays when he had been a forlorn girl-widow's protecting friend and ardentadmirer. 

Yet, even so, she began with a lie: "When my mother died last year sheleft me a little money. I thought it wise to spend it in getting thishouse, and in settling down here. " She said the words in a very lowvoice, and as Miss Crofton said nothing for a moment, she addedtimidly:--"I do hope that you think I did right? I know people thinkit wrong to use capital, but the War has changed everything, includingmoney, and one simply can't get along at all without paying out sumswhich before the War would have seemed dreadful. "

"That's very true, " said Miss Crofton finally. 

Enid, feeling on sure ground now, went on: "Why, I had to pay a premiumof £200 for the lease of this little house. But I'm told I could get thatagain--even after living for a year or two in it. "

Miss Crofton began looking about her with a doubtful air: "I suppose youmean to spend the winter here, " she said musingly, "and then let thehouse each summer?"

"Yes, " said Enid, "that is my idea. "

As a matter of fact, she had never thought of doing such a thing, thoughshe saw the point of it, now that it was put by her sister-in-law. Shehoped, however, that long before next summer her future would be settledon most agreeable lines. 

"Then I suppose the balance of what your mother left you forms a littleaddition to your pension, and to what poor Cecil was able to leave you?"

As the other hesitated, Miss Crofton went on, in a very friendlytone:--"I hope you won't think it interfering that I should speak as I amdoing? I expected to find you much less comfortably circumstanced, and Iwas going to propose that I should increase what I had feared would be avery small income, by two hundred a year. "

Enid was as much touched by this unexpected generosity as it was inher to be, and it was with an accent of real sincerity that sheexclaimed:--"Oh, Alice, you _are_ kind! Of course two hundred a yearwould be a _great_ help. Nothing remains of what my mother left me. Butyou must not think that I'm extravagant. I sold a lot of things, and thatmade it possible for me to take over The Trellis House exactly as you seeit. But even during the very few days I have been here I have begun tofind how expensive life can be, even in a village like this. "

"All right, " said Miss Crofton. She got up from her easy chair with aquick movement, for she was still a vigorous woman. "Then that's settled!I'll give you a cheque for £100 to-day--and one every six months aslong that is, as you're a widow. " Then she smiled a little satirically, for Enid had made a quick movement of recoil which Alice Crofton thoughtrather absurd. 

"It's early to think of such a thing, no doubt, " she said coolly. "Butstill, I shall be very much surprised, Enid, if you do not re-make yourlife. I myself have a dear young friend, very little older than you are, who has been married three times. The War has altered the views andprejudices even of old-fashioned people. "

"I want to ask you something, " said Enid, "d'you think I ought to tellpeople that I have already been married twice?"

Miss Crofton told herself quickly that such questions are always put witha definite reason, and that she probably would not be called upon to payher sister-in-law's allowance for very long. 

"I don't think you are in the least bound to tell anyone such a factabout yourself, unless"--she hesitated, --"you were seriously thinking ofmarrying again. In such a case as that I think you would be well advised, Enid, to tell the man in question the fact before you become obliged toreveal it to him. "

There was a pause, and then Miss Crofton abruptly changed the subject bysaying something which considerably disturbed her young sister-in-law. 

"I should be much obliged, my dear, if you would tell me a few details asto my poor brother's death. Your letter contained no particulars at all, "and as the other made no immediate answer, Miss Crofton went on:--"I knowthere was an inquest, for one of my friends in Florence saw a report ofit in an English paper. Perhaps you would kindly let me see any newspaperaccount or cuttings you may have preserved?"

"I have kept _nothing_, Alice!" Enid Crofton uttered the words with atouch of almost angry excitement. Then, perhaps seeing that the other wasvery much surprised, she said more quietly:--"The inquest was a purelyformal affair--the Coroner himself told me that there must always be aninquest when a person died suddenly. "

"Oh, but surely the question was raised, and that very seriously, asto whether Cecil took what he did take on purpose, or by accident? Iunderstood from my friend that the account of the inquest she saw in somepopular Sunday paper was headed 'An Essex Mystery. '"

Enid felt as if all the blood in her body was flowing towards her face. She congratulated herself that she was sitting with her back to thelight. These remarks, these questions made her feel sick and faint. Yetshe answered, composedly:--"Both the Coroner and the jury felt _sure_ hehad taken it on purpose. Poor Cecil had never been like himself since theunlucky day, for us, that the War ended!" And then to Miss Crofton'ssurprise and discomfiture Enid burst into tears. 

The older lady got up and put her hand very kindly on the younger one'sshoulder:--"I'm sorry I said anything, my dear, " she exclaimed; "I'mafraid you went through a much worse time than you let me know. "

"I did! I did!" sobbed Enid. "I cannot tell you how terrible it was, Alice. "

Then she made a determined effort over herself, ashamed of her ownemotion. Still neither hostess nor guest was sorry when there came aknock at the door, followed a moment later by the entry into the room ofa stranger who was announced by the maid as "Miss Pendarth. "

Enid Crofton got up, and as she shook hands with the newcomer shetried to remember what it was that Godfrey Radmore had said of herold-fashioned looking visitor. That she was a good friend but a badenemy? Yes, that had been it. Then she remembered something else--thefew kind words scribbled on a visiting card which had been left at TheTrellis House a day or two ago. 

She turned to her sister-in-law:--"I think Miss Pendarth knew poor Cecilyears and years ago, " she said softly. 

"Are you--you must be Olivia Pendarth?" There was a touch of emotion inAlice Crofton's level voice. 

"Yes, I am Olivia Pendarth. "

Enid was surprised--not over pleased by the revelation that these twoknew one another. 

"I suppose it's a long time since you met?" she said pleasantly. 

"Miss Crofton and I have never met before, " said Miss Pendarth quietly. "But I knew your husband very well in India, when he and I were bothyoung. My brother was in his regiment. "

"The dear old regiment!" exclaimed Miss Crofton. 

Enid Crofton smiled a little to herself. It amused her to see that thesetwo old things--for so she described them to herself--had so quicklybecome friends. "The Regiment!" How sick she had got of those two wordsduring her second married life! She was sorry that Alice, whom she liked, should be so queerly like Cecil. Even their voices were alike, and shehad uttered the two words with that peculiar intonation her husbandalways used when speaking of any of his old comrades-in-arms. 

All the same Miss Pendarth's sudden appearance had been a godsend. Enidhated going back to the dreadful time of her husband's death. 

And then, when everything seemed going so pleasantly, and when EnidCrofton was still feeling a glow of joy at the thought of the cheque for£100, one of those things happened which seem sometimes to occur in lifeas if to remind us poor mortals that Fate is ever crouching round thecorner, ready to spring. The door opened, and the buxom little maidbrought in two letters on the salver she had just been taught to use. 

One of the envelopes was addressed in a clear, ordinary lady's hand; theother, cheap and poor in quality, was in a firm, and yet unformed, handwriting. 

Enid glanced at the two elder ladies; they were talking together eagerly. She walked over to the bow-shaped window, and opened the commonerenvelope:

 Dear Madam, I hope you will excuse me writing to tell you that my husband has had to leave Mr. Winter's situation. Piper considers he has been treated shameful, and that if he chose he could get the law on Mr. Winter. I am writing to you unknown to Piper. If you could see me I think I could explain exactly what it is I want Piper to get. There do seem a difficulty now in getting jobs of Piper's sort, but from what he has told me there were one or two other jobs you heard of that might have suited him. 

 Yours respectfully, Amelia Piper. 

Enid Crofton stared down at the signature with a sensation of puzzleddismay. _Piper married?_ This was indeed a complication, and acomplication which in her most anxious communings she had never thoughtof. The man had always behaved like a bachelor--for instance he hadalways made love to the maids. There also came back to her the memory ofsomething her husband had once said, with one of his grimly humorouslooks:--"Piper's a regular dog! If he'd been born in a different classof life he'd have been a real Don Juan. " She now asked herself veryanxiously how far a married Don Juan of any class confides in his wife?Does he tell her his real secrets, or does he keep them to himself?Judging by her own experience the average man who loves a woman is onlytoo apt to tell her not only his own, but other people's secrets. 

Slowly she put the letter back in its envelope. She had gone to a greatdeal of trouble, and even to some little expense, over procuring Piper areally good situation. She had seen not only his new employer, but alsowhat she liked doing far less, his new employer's wife; and she had gothim extraordinarily good wages, even for these days. It was too badthat he should worry her, after all she had done for him. As for hiswife--nothing would induce her to see Mrs. Piper. Neither did she wishPiper to come down to Beechfield. She was particularly anxious that theman should not learn of Godfrey Radmore's return to England. Unfortunately Radmore was on the lookout for a good manservant. 

She took up the other letter. It was a nice, prosperous-looking, welladdressed envelope, very different from the other. Perhaps this secondletter would contain something that would cheer her up. But alas! whenshe opened it, she found it was from Mrs. Winter, Piper's late employer'swife. 

Poor Enid Crofton! As she stood there reading it, she turned a littlesick. Piper had got drunk the very first day he had been in his newsituation. While drunk he had tried to kiss a virtuous young housemaid. There had been a regular scene, which had ended in the lady of the housebeing sent for. There and then Piper had been turned out neck and crop. 

It was not only a justifiably angry letter, it was a very disagreeableletter, the writer saying plainly that Mrs. Crofton had been very much toblame for recommending such a man. .. . 

Feeling very much disturbed she turned and came back towards her twovisitors. They were now deep in talk, having evidently found a host ofcommon associations: "I find I ought to answer one of my letters atonce, " she said. "Will you forgive me for a few moments?"

They both looked up, and smiled at her. She looked so pretty, so fragile, so young, in her widow's mourning. 

She went through into the dining-room. There was a writing-table in thewindow, and there she sat down and put her head in her hands; she feltunutterably forlorn, frightened too--she hardly knew of what. It hadgiven her such a horrible shock to learn that Piper was married. .. . 

Taking up a pen, she held it for a while poised in the air, staring outof the window at the attractive though rather neglected old garden, inwhich only this morning she had spent more than an hour with JackTosswill. 

Then, at last, she dipped her pen in the ink, and after making two roughdrafts, she decided on the following form of answer to Mrs. Piper, telling herself that it might be read as addressed to either husband orwife:--

 Mrs. Crofton is very sorry to hear that Piper has lost his good situation. She will try and hear of something that will suit him. Mrs. Crofton cannot see Mrs. Piper for the present, as she is leaving home to start on a round of visits, but she will keep in touch with Mr. And Mrs. Piper and hopes to hear of something that may suit Piper very soon. 

She began by writing "Mr. Piper, " on one of her pretty black-edged mauveenvelopes; then she altered the "Mr. " to "Mrs. " After all it was Piper'swife who had written to her, and she suddenly remembered with a slightfeeling of apprehension, that Mrs. Piper, for some reason best known toherself, had not told Piper that she was writing. On the other hand itwas quite possible that the husband and wife had concocted the letterbetween them. 

Having addressed the envelope, she suddenly got up and ran up to herbedroom. There she opened her dressing-table drawer. Quite at the backlay an envelope containing four £5 notes. She took one of the notes, and running down again, slipped it in the envelope and added a postscriptto her letter:--

 Mrs. Crofton sends £5, which she hopes will be of use while Piper is out of a situation. 

She went downstairs, giving her letter, on her way back to thedrawing-room, to the cook to take out to the post-box. 

As she opened the drawing room door, something which struck her as alittle odd happened. Her two visitors, the murmur of whose voices she hadheard in deep, eager converse while she was stepping across her hall, abruptly stopped talking, and she wondered uneasily what they could havebeen saying that neither wished her to hear. 

As a matter of fact that sudden silence was owing to a kindly, old-fashioned, wholly "ladylike" instinct, on the part of the two olderwomen. Miss Crofton had been talking of her brother's death, confidingto Miss Pendarth her desire to learn something more as to how it hadactually come about. With what was for her really eager sympathy, MissPendarth had offered to write to a friend in Essex, in order to discoverthe name of the local paper where, without doubt, a full account of theinquest on Colonel Crofton must have been published. 

CHAPTER XIV

Saturday, Sunday, Monday, slipped away, and on Tuesday there seemed noreason why Godfrey Radmore should leave Old Place. And so he stayed on, nominally from day to day, settling down, as none of them would havethought possible that anyone now a stranger could settle down, to thedaily round and common task of the life led by the Tosswill family. Aftertwo or three days he even began to take command of the younger ones, andJanet was secretly amused to see how he shamed both Rosamund and Dollyinto doing something like their full share of the housework. 

In relation to the two younger girls, his attitude was far more thatof a good-natured, rather cynical, elder brother than was his attitudeto Betty. Into her special department, the kitchen, he seldom intruded, though when he did so it was to real purpose. Thus, Dolly's twentiethbirthday was made by him the excuse for ordering from a famous Londoncaterer a hamper containing enough cold and half-cooked food to keep themjunketing for two or three days. Janet was rather puzzled to note thatBetty, alone of them all, seemed to look askance at the way Radmore spenthis substance in showering fairy-godfather-like gifts on the inmates ofOld Place. 

The happiest of them all was Timmy. Most men would have been bored byhaving so much of a child's company, but Radmore was touched andflattered by the boy's devotion, and that though there was a side of hisgodson which puzzled and disturbed him. Now and again Timmy would saysomething which made Radmore wonder for a moment if he had heard thewords aright, but he followed the example silently set him by all theothers of taking no notice of Timmy's claim both to see and foresee morethan is vouchsafed to the ordinary mortal. 

Miss Crofton had also stayed on in Beechfield, but only a day longer thanshe had intended to do--that is, till the Tuesday. She and Miss Pendarthhad met more than once, striking up something like a real friendship. Butthis, instead of modifying, had intensified Miss Pendarth's growingprejudice against the new tenant of The Trellis House. She felt convincedthat the pretty young widow had made her kind sister-in-law believe thatshe was far poorer, and more to be pitied, than she really was. 

Life in an English village is in some ways like a quiet pool--and, justas the throwing of a pebble into such a pool causes what appears tocreate an extraordinary amount of commotion on the surface of the water, so the advent of any human being who happens to be a little out of thecommon produces an amount of discussion, public and private, which mightwell seem to those outside the circle of gossip, extravagant, as well asunnecessary. 

The general verdict on Mrs. Crofton had begun by being favourable. Bothwith gentle and simple her appealing beauty told in her favour, and verysoon the village people smiled, and looked knowingly at one another, asthey noted the perpetual coming and going of Jack Tosswill to The TrellisHouse. No day went by without the young man making some more or lessplausible excuse to call there once, twice, and sometimes thrice. 

It was noticed, too, by those interested in such matters--and inBeechfield they were in the majority--that Mr. Godfrey Radmore, whosereturn to Old Place had naturally caused a good deal of talk andspeculation--was also a frequent visitor at The Trellis House. Now andagain he would call there in his car, and take Mrs. Crofton for a longdrive; but they never went out alone--either Dolly or Rosamund, andinvariably Timmy, would be of the party. 

As the days went on, each member of the Tosswill family began to have adefinite and, so to speak, crystallised view of Enid Crofton. Rosamundhad become her champion, thus earning for the first time in her life thewarm approval of her brother Jack; but Dolly and Tom grew rather jealousof their sister's absorption in the stranger. Rosamund was so very oftenat The Trellis House. In fact, when Jack was not to be found there, Rosamund generally was. But she had soon discovered that her new friendpreferred to see her visitors singly. Betty kept her thoughts as to Mrs. Crofton to herself--for one thing the two very seldom met. But JanetTosswill was more frank. With her, tepid liking had turned into dislike, and when she alluded to the pretty widow, which was not often, she wouldtersely describe her as "second-rate. "

Now there is no word in the English language more deadly in its vagueimport than that apparently harmless adjective. As applied to a humanbeing, it generally conveys every kind of odious significance, andcuriously enough it is seldom applied without good reason. 

Mrs. Crofton had gentle, pretty manners, but her manner lacked sincerity. She was not content to leave her real beauty of colouring and feature totake care of itself; her eye-brows were "touched up, " and when shefancied herself to be "off colour" she would put on a suspicion of rouge. But what perhaps unduly irritated the mistress of Old Place were Mrs. Crofton's clothes! To such shrewd, feminine eyes as were JanetTosswill's, it was plain that the new tenant of The Trellis House hadtaken as much pains over her widow's mourning as a coquettish bride takesover her trousseau. 

Janet Tosswill was far too busy a woman to indulge in the village gameof constant informal calls on her neighbours. She left all that sort ofthing to her younger step-daughters; and as Mrs. Crofton never came toOld Place--making her nervous fear of the dogs the excuse--Janet only sawthe new tenant of The Trellis House when she happened to be walking aboutthe village or at church. 

But for a while, at any rate, an untoward event drove the thoughtsof most of the inmates of Old Place far from Mrs. Crofton and herpeculiarities, attractive or other. 

 * * * * *

One day, when Radmore had already been at Beechfield for close on afortnight, Timmy drew him aside, and said mysteriously: "Godfrey, I wantto tell you something. "

Radmore looked down and said pleasantly, though with a queer inwardforeboding in his mind: "Go ahead, boy--I'm listening. "

"Something's going to happen to someone here. I saw Dr. O'Farrell lastnight, I mean in a dream. You were driving him in your car through ourgate. Last time I dreamt about him Dolly had measles; she was awfullyill; she nearly died. "

As he spoke, Timmy kept looking round, as if afraid of being overheard. "I don't mean to tell anyone else, " he added confidentially. "You see itupsets Mum, and makes the others cross, if I say things like that. Butstill, I just thought I'd tell _you_. "

Radmore was impressed, disagreeably so, in spite of himself; but: "Lookhere, Timmy, " he said chaffingly. "The Greeks have a proverb about thebearer of ill-tidings; don't let yourself ever become that, old man!Have you ever heard, by the by, about 'the long arm of coincidence'?"

Timmy nodded. 

"Don't you think it possible that your having dreamt about Dr. O'Farrelljust before Dolly was taken ill may have been that long arm ofcoincidence--and nothing more? I can't help thinking that probably yourmother said something about sending for Dr. O'Farrell--for people don'tget measles in a minute, you know; they are seedy for some daysbeforehand--and that made you dream of him. Eh?"

But Timmy answered obliquely, as was rather his way when brought to bookby some older person than himself. "I think this time it's going to be anaccident, " he said thoughtfully. 

And an accident it was! Old Nanna, who, in spite of her age, had becomethe corner-stone of the household as regarded its material well-being, slipped on the back staircase, and sprained her leg, and of course it wasRadmore who went off in his car to fetch and bring back Dr. O'Farrell. 

A slight alleviation to their troubles was brought about by MissPendarth, who was going off on a visit the very day the accidenthappened, and who practically compelled Janet to accept the temporaryservice of her own excellent servant. It was her readiness to give thatsort of quick, kindly, decisive help which made so many of those who hadthe privilege of her acquaintance regard Miss Pendarth with the solidliking which is founded on gratitude. 

But the help, offered and accepted in the same spirit, could not go onfor long, for Miss Pendarth came home after a four days' absence; and, for the first time in many months, Janet Tosswill made time to pay aformal call at Rose Cottage in order that she might thank her old friend. She intended to stay only the time that strict civility enjoined, and shewould have been surprised indeed had she been able to foresee what apregnant and, to her, personally, painful train of events were to followas a result of the quarter of an hour she spent in Miss Pendarth'sold-fashioned upstairs sitting-room where only privileged visitors wereever made welcome. 

"Will you come upstairs to-day, Janet? I have something about which Iwant to consult you. "

And then, when they had sat down, Miss Pendarth said abruptly: "While Iwas in Essex I came across some people who had been acquainted with Mrs. Crofton and her husband. "

Janet looked across at the speaker with some surprise. "What an oddthing!" she exclaimed, and she did think it rather odd. 

But Olivia Pendarth was a very honest woman--too honest, some peoplemight have said. "It was not exactly odd, " she said quickly, "for, totell you the truth, I made it my business while there to make certainenquiries about the Croftons. In fact, I partly went to Essex for thatpurpose, though I did not tell my friends so. "

The visitor felt rather shocked, as well as surprised. Surely OliviaPendarth's interest in her neighbours' concerns was, to say the leastof it, excessive. But the other's next words modified her censoriousthoughts. 

"Colonel Crofton and one of my brothers were in the same regimenttogether. I knew him quite well when he and I were both young, and whenMiss Crofton came to see her sister-in-law a fortnight ago, I offered tomake certain enquiries for her. "

There was a touch of mystery, of hesitation in the older lady's voice, and Janet Tosswill "rose" as she was perhaps meant to do. "What sort ofenquiries?" she asked. "I thought Miss Crofton was on the best of termswith her sister-in-law. "

"So she is; but she wanted to know more than Mrs. Crofton was inclined totell her about the circumstances--the really extraordinary circumstances, Janet--concerning Colonel Crofton's death. And now I'm rather in aquandary as to whether I ought to tell her what I heard, and indeed as towhether I ought even to send her the report of the inquest which appearedin a local paper, and which I at last managed to secure. "

"Of course I know that Colonel Crofton committed suicide. " Janet Tosswilllowered her voice instinctively. "That poor, second-rate little womanseems to have told Rosamund as much, and Godfrey Radmore confirmed it. "

"Yes, I suppose one ought to say that there is no real doubt that hecommitted suicide. " Yet Miss Pendarth's voice seemed to imply that therewas some doubt. 

She went on: "It was suggested at the inquest that the chemist who madeup a certain heart tonic Colonel Crofton had been in the habit of takingfor some time, had put in a far larger dose of strychnine than wasright. "

Janet Tosswill repeated in a startled tone: "Strychnine! You don't meanto say the poor man committed suicide with that horrible poison?"

Miss Pendarth looked up, and Janet was struck by her pallor and look ofpain. "Yes, Janet; he died of a big dose of strychnine, and the medicalevidence given at the inquest makes most painful reading. "

"It _must_ have been a mistake on the part of the chemist. No sane manwould take strychnine in order to commit suicide. Besides, how could hehave got it?"

"There was strychnine in the house, " said Miss Pendarth slowly. "WhenMrs. Crofton was in Egypt it was prescribed for her. You know how peopletake it by the drop? A chemist out there seems to have given her a muchgreater quantity than was needed, and in an ordinary, unlabelled medicinebottle, too. " The speaker waited a moment, then went on: "Though shebrought it back to England with her, she seems to have quite forgottenthat she had it. But _he_ must have known it was there, for after hisdeath the bottle was found in his dressing room. "

"What a dreadful thing! And how painful it must have been for her!"

"Yes, I think she did go through a very dreadful time. But, Janet, whatimpressed me most painfully, and what I am sure would much distress MissCrofton were I to tell her even only a part of what I heard, was the factthat the husband and wife were on very bad terms. This was testified to, and very strongly, by the only woman servant they had at the time of hisdeath. "

"I never believe servants' evidence, " observed Janet Tosswill drily. 

"The Coroner, who I suppose naturally wished to spare Mrs. Crofton'sfeelings, told the jury that it was plain that Colonel Crofton was a verybad-tempered man. But the people with whom I was staying, and who droveme over to look at the God-forsaken old house where the Croftons lived, said that local feeling was very much against her. It was thought thatshe really caused him to take his life by her neglect and unkindness. "

"What a terrible idea!"

"I fear it's true. And now comes the question--ought I to tell his sisterthis? Some of the gossip I heard was very unpleasant. "

"Do you mean that there was another man?"

"Other men--rather than another man. She was always going up to London toenjoy herself with the various men friends she had made during the War, and the only guests they ever entertained were young men who were more orless in love with her. "

Janet smiled a little wryly. "There's safety in numbers, and after allshe's extraordinarily attractive to men. "

"Yes, " said Miss Pendarth, "there _is_ safety in numbers, and it's saidthat Colonel Crofton was almost insanely jealous. They seem to have led amiserable existence, constantly quarrelling about money, too, and oftenchanging their servants. On at least one occasion Mrs. Crofton went away, leaving him quite alone, with only their odd man to look after him, forsomething like a fortnight. Colonel Crofton's only interest in life wasthe terriers which he apparently bred with a view to increasing hisincome. "

"They can't have been so very poor, " said Janet abruptly. "Look at theway she's living now. "

"I feel sure she's living on capital, " said Miss Pendarth slowly, "and Ithink--forgive me for saying so--that she hopes to marry Godfrey Radmore. I'm sure that's why she came to Beechfield. "

"You're wrong there! She settled to come here before Godfrey came home. "

"I'm convinced that she knew he was coming home soon. "

Janet got up. "I must be going now, " she exclaimed. "There's a great dealto do, and only Betty and I to do it. "

"I suppose Godfrey Radmore will be leaving now?"

"I hope not, for he's a help rather than a hindrance. He takes Timmy offour hands--"

"--And he's so much at The Trellis House. I hear he dined there lastnight. "

"Yes, with Rosamund, " answered Janet shortly. 

Miss Pendarth accompanied her visitor down and out to the wrought-irongate. There the two lingered for a moment, and than Janet Tosswillreceived one of the real surprises of her life. 

"Colonel Crofton and I were once engaged. I went out to India to staywith my brother, and it happened there. _Now_ we should have married. Butthings were very different _then_. When my father found Captain Croftonwas not in a position to make what was then regarded as a propersettlement, he declared the engagement at an end. "

Janet felt touched. There was such a depth of restrained feeling in herold friend's voice. Somehow it had never occurred to her that OliviaPendarth could ever have been in love!

"It must be very painful for you to have her here, " she saidinvoluntarily. 

"In a way, yes. But I suspected she was his widow from the first. "

"I think that, if I were you, I would say nothing to his sister, "observed Janet. 

"Very well. I will take your advice. "

She changed the subject abruptly. "Let me know if Kate can be of any moreuse. She's quite anxious to go on helping you all. She's got so fond ofBetty: she says she'd do anything for her. "

"We're managing all right now, and Godfrey really is a help, instead of ahindrance. He actually suggested that he should do the washing-up thismorning!"

"That's the best thing I've ever heard of Godfrey Radmore, " exclaimedMiss Pendarth. "I sincerely hope--forgive me for saying so, Janet--thatthere's really nothing between him and Enid Crofton. I should be sorryfor my worst enemy to marry that woman, if the things I was told abouther were true. "

"I don't believe that he is thinking of her, consciously--" JanetTosswill spoke slowly, choosing her words. 

"Of course she's making a dead set at him. But there's safety in numbers, even here, " observed the other, grimly. "I hear that your Jack simplylives at The Trellis House. The whole village is talking about it. "

Jack? Janet Tosswill felt vexed by what she considered a bit of stupid, vulgar, village gossip. "Jack's the most level-headed young man aboutwomen I've ever known, " she said, trying to speak pleasantly. "If anyonehas fallen in love with Mrs. Crofton, it's our silly little Rosamund!"

CHAPTER XV

The morning after Janet Tosswill's call at Rose Cottage, Rosamundfollowed her step-mother into the drawing-room immediately afterbreakfast, and observed plaintively that it did seem strange that "Enid"was never asked to Old Place. "We take anything from her, and never giveanything back, " she said. 

Janet, who had a certain tenderness for the pretty black sheep of thefamily, checked the sharp retort which trembled on her lips. Still, itwas quite true that Rosamund had more than once been kept to lunch at TheTrellis House, and that on the day of Nanna's accident Mrs. Crofton hadissued a sort of general invitation to supper to the young people of OldPlace--an invitation finally accepted, at Betty's suggestion, by GodfreyRadmore and Rosamund. 

Janet admitted to herself that they did owe Mrs. Crofton some civility. If the thing had to be done, it might as well be done at once, and so, when Rosamund had reluctantly gone upstairs to do her share of thehousehold work, his mother beckoned Timmy into the drawing-room, and toldhim that she would have a note ready for him to take to The Trellis Housein a few minutes. 

"Oh, Mum, do let Jack take it!" the boy exclaimed. "I can't go to TheTrellis House with Flick, and it's such a bore to shut him up. "

"Why can't Flick go with you?"

"Mum! Don't you remember? Mrs. Crofton is _terrified_ of dogs. Do letJack take it!"

"But are you sure Jack is going there this morning?" she asked, and thenshe remembered Miss Pendarth's ill-natured remark. 

"He goes there every morning, " said Timmy positively, "and this morninghe's going there extra early, as he's lending Mrs. Crofton our bestpreserving pan. She wants to make some blackberry jam. "

And then there occurred one of those odd incidents which were alwayshappening in connection with Timmy and with which his mother never knewquite how to deal. He screwed up his queer little face for a moment, shaded his eyes with his hand, and said quietly: "I think Jack is juststarting down the drive now. You'll catch him if you'll open the windowand shout to him, Mum--it's no good my going after him--he wouldn't comeback for _me_. "

Janet Tosswill got up from her writing-table. She opened the nearestwindow and, stepping out, looked to her right. Yes, there was Jack'sneat, compact figure sprinting down the long, straight avenue towards thegate. He was holding a queer-looking, badly done up parcel in his hands. 

"Jack! Jack! Come here for a minute--I want you, " she called out in herclear, rather high-pitched voice. 

He slackened, and it was as if she could see him hesitating, wonderingwhether he dare pretend he had not heard her. Then he turned and ran backdown the drive and across the wide lawn to the window. 

"What is it?" he asked breathlessly. "I'm late as it is! I'm taking oneof our preserving pans to The Trellis House. The fruit was all pickedyesterday. "

"I won't be a moment. I want you to take a letter for me to Mrs. Crofton. I'm asking her to come in to dinner to-night. "

She turned back into the room and, sitting down, took up her pen: "Timmy?Go into the scullery, and help Betty for a bit. "

After her little son had left the room, she called out to Jack, "Do comeinside; it fidgets me to feel that you're standing out there. "

After what seemed to Jack Tosswill a long time, though it was only threeminutes, his step-mother turned, and held out her note: "She needn'twrite--a verbal answer will do. If she can't come we shall have done thecivil thing. "

And then, thinking aloud, she went on: "Somehow I don't expect her tostay long in Beechfield. She's too much of a London bird. "

"I don't suppose she would have come at all if she had known what abeastly, inhospitable place Beechfield is, " said Jack sharply. Though hewas in such a hurry to be off, he waited in order to add: "She's beenhere nearly a month, and you've never called on her yet--it's too bad!"

Janet Tosswill flushed deeply. Jack had not spoken to her in such a tonesince he was fifteen. 

"What nonsense! She must be indeed silly and affected, " she exclaimed, "if she expected me to pay her a formal call, especially as we had her into supper the very first day she was here! I might retort by saying thatshe might have sent or called to know how poor old Nanna was! Everyone inthe village has done so--but then your friend, Jack, is not what myfather used to call '18 carat'!"

"I think it's we who are not '18 carat, '" he answered furiously. "We haveshown Mrs. Crofton the grossest discourtesy, and I happen to know thatshe feels it very much. "

Janet Tosswill looked at her elder stepson with a feeling of blankamazement. It had often astonished her to notice how completely Jack hadhis emotions and temper under control. Yet here he was, his face aglowwith anger, his voice trembling with rage. 

Poor Janet! She had had long days of fatigue and worry since the oldnurse's accident, and suddenly she completely lost her temper. "I don'twant to say anything unkind about the little woman, but I do think herboth silly and second-rate. I took a dislike to her when she behaved insuch a ridiculous manner over Flick. "

"You were almost as frightened as she was, " said Jack roughly. 

"It's quite true that I was frightened for a moment, but only becauseI was afraid for Timmy. "

"I can tell you one thing--she won't come here again to supper unlessI can give her my word that all our dogs are really shut up. And I fearI must ask you to undertake to see that Timmy does not let Flick outafter I _have_ shut him up. "

Janet Tosswill held out her hand. "I think you'd better give me that noteback, " she said curtly. "We certainly don't want anyone here of the kindyou have just described. From something Godfrey said to me it's clearthat Mrs. Crofton's horror of dogs is just a pose she thinks makes herinteresting. Why, her husband bred terriers; Flick actually came fromthere! And Godfrey says that she herself had a little dog called by theabsurd name of 'Boo-boo' to which she was devoted. "

"'Boo-boo' was the exception that proves the rule, " answered Jack hotly. "As for Colonel Crofton, it was beastly of him to breed terriers, knowinghow his wife felt about dogs! She told me herself she would never havemarried him if she had known there was any likelihood of that coming topass. She feels about dogs as some people feel about cats. "

"I never heard such nonsense!"

"Nonsense?" he repeated in an enraged tone. "It isn't nonsense! The bestproof that that horror of dogs is instinctive with her is the effect thatshe herself has on every dog she comes across. That was shown the eveningshe was here. "

"Really, Jack, that's utterly absurd! Flick was not thinking of her atall. Something in the garden had frightened him. Your father feels surethat it was a snake which he himself killed the next morning. " And then, for she was most painfully disturbed by this scene between herself andJack, she said quietly: "I'm sorry that Mrs. Crofton ever came toBeechfield. I didn't think there was anyone in the world who would makeyou speak to me as you have spoken to me now. "

"I hate injustice!" he exclaimed, a little shamefacedly. "I can't thinkwhy you've turned against her, Janet. It's so mean as well as so unkind!She has hardly any friends in the world, and she thought by the accountGodfrey gave of us that _we_ should become her friends. "

"It's always a woman's own fault if she has no friends, especially whenshe's such an attractive woman as Mrs. Crofton, " said Janet shortly. Shehesitated, and then added something for which she was sorry immediatelyafterwards: "I happen to know rather more about Mrs. Crofton than most ofthe people in Beechfield do. "

She spoke with that touch of mysterious finality which is always soirritating to a listener who is in indifferent sympathy with a speaker. 

"What d'you mean?" cried Jack fiercely. "I insist on your telling me whatyou mean!"

Janet Tosswill told herself with Scotch directness that she had been afool. But if Jack was--she hardly knew how to put it to herself--so--sobewitched by Mrs. Crofton as he seemed to be, then perhaps, as they hadgot to this point, he had better hear the truth:

"Mrs. Crofton made herself very much talked about in the neighbourhood ofthe place where she and her husband settled after the War. She was soactively unkind, and made him so wretched, that at last he committedsuicide. At least that is what is believed by everyone who knew them inEssex. "

"I suppose a woman told you all this?" he said in a dangerously calmvoice. 

"Yes, it was a woman, Jack. "

"Of course it was! Every woman, young or old, is jealous of her becauseshe's so pretty and--so--so feminine, and because she has nothing abouther of the clever, hard woman who is the fashion nowadays! The onlyperson who does her justice in this place is Rosamund. "

"I disapprove very much of Rosamund's silly, school-girlish, adoration ofher, " said Janet sharply. 

She was just going to add something more when she saw Timmy slippingquietly back into the room. And all at once she felt sorry--deeplysorry--that this rather absurd scene had taken place between herself andJack. She blamed herself for having let it come to this pass. 

"I daresay I'm prejudiced, " she exclaimed. "Take this note, Jack, andtell Mrs. Crofton that Flick shall be securely shut up. "

"All right. " Jack shrugged his shoulders rather ostentatiously, anddisappeared through the window, while Janet, with a half-humorous sigh, told herself that perhaps he was justified in condemning in his own mind, as he was certainly doing now, the extraordinary vagaries of womankind. She turned back to her writing-table again. However disturbed and worriedshe might feel, there were the weekly books to be gone through, and thistime without Nanna's shrewd, kindly help. 

Suddenly she started, for Timmy's claw-like little hand was on her arm:"Mum, " he said earnestly, "do tell me what Colonel Crofton was reallylike? Did that lady--you know, I mean the person Jack thinks is jealousof Mrs. Crofton--tell you what he was like?"

"No--yes--oh, Timmy! I'm afraid you must have been listening at the doorjust now?"

"I didn't like to come in, " he said, wriggling uneasily. "I've neverheard Jack speak in such an angry way before. He was in a wax, wasn't he?But, Mum, do tell me what Colonel Crofton looked like--I do _so_ want toknow. "

She put down her pen, and turning, gazed down into the child's eager, inquisitive little face. 

"Why should you wish to know, Timmy?" She spoke rather coldly andsternly. 

She was sorry indeed now that she had been tempted to repeat what wasperhaps after all only the outcome of Miss Pendarth's unconsciousjealousy of the woman who had made a fool of the man she had loved as agirl. It was unfortunately true that Olivia Pendarth had an unconsciousprejudice against all young and pretty women. 

"I want to know, " mumbled Timmy, "because I think I do know what he waslike. "

"If you know what he was like, then there is nothing more to say. "

"I want to be sure, " he repeated obstinately. 

"But how absurd, Timmy! Why should you want to know about a poor oldgentleman who is dead, and of whom you are not likely ever to hearanything? I have often told you how horrid it is to be inquisitive. "

Timmy paused over that remark. "I want to know, " he said in a lowmumbling voice, "because I think I have seen him. " He did not look up athis mother as he spoke. With the forefinger of his right hand he begantracing an imaginary pattern on the blue serge skirt which covered herknee. 

She looked around apprehensively. Yes, the door was shut. She rememberedthat Dr. O'Farrell had told her never to encourage the child'sconfidences, but, on the other hand, never to check them. 

"I first saw him the evening she came to supper, " Timmy mumbled. "Theywere walking together down the avenue. I thought he was a real oldgentleman. There was a dog with him, a terrier exactly like Flick, only alittle bigger. Of course I thought it was a real dog too. But now I knowthat it wasn't. I know now that it was a ghost-dog. It is _that_ dog, Mum, that frightens the other dogs who meet them--not herself, as she'scome to think. "

"Oh, Timmy, "--Janet felt acutely uncomfortable--"you know I cannot bearto think that such things really happen to you. If you really think themI'd rather know, but I'd so much rather, dear boy, that you didn't thinkthem. "

But Timmy was absorbed in what he was saying. "I know now that it wasColonel Crofton, " he went on, "because I've seen an old photograph ofhim, Mum. Mrs. Crofton brought a tin box full of papers with her, andthere were some old photographs in it. There was one of an officer inuniform, and it had written across it, 'Yours sincerely, Cecil Crofton. 'She tore it up the day after she came here, and threw it in thewaste-paper basket, but her cook took it out of the dustbin, andthat's how I saw it. "

"How disgusting!" exclaimed his mother, feeling herself now on firmground. "How often have I had to tell you, Timmy, not to go into otherpeople's kitchens and sculleries? No nice boy, no little gentleman, woulddo such a thing. Of course it was seeing that photograph made you believeyou saw Colonel Crofton's--"

She stopped abruptly, for she never, if she could help it, used the word"ghost, " or "spirit, " to the child. 

"Up to now I've always supposed that animals had no souls, Mum, but now Iknow they have. I know another thing, too, " but there was a doubtful notein his voice. "I suppose that ghost-dog hates Mrs. Crofton because shewas so unkind to his master. That's why he makes the other dogs fly ather, I expect--or d'you think it's just because they're frightened thatthey do it?"

Janet Tosswill was an unconventional woman, also she was on terms of veryclose kinship with her strange little son. Still, she reddened as shedrew him closer to her and said: "Look here, Timmy, I want to tell yousomething. I'm sorry now I said what I did say to Jack about Mrs. Crofton. I ought not to have said it--I'm ashamed of having said it! Itwas told me by someone who is rather fond of repeating disagreeable, sometimes even untrue, things. "

Timmy had also grown very red while his mother was making her littleconfession. He took up her hand and squeezed it impulsively, as an olderperson might have done. 

"I think I know who you mean, " he said. "You mean Miss Pendarth?"

"Yes, " said his mother steadily, "I do mean Miss Pendarth. I think itquite possible that poor little Mrs. Crofton was never really unkind toColonel Crofton at all. "

"But you wouldn't like Jack to marry her, Mum, would you?"

Janet felt a shock of dismay go through her. There flashed into her mindthat sometimes most disturbing text--"Out of the mouths of babes andsucklings. .. . "

"I shouldn't like it at all, " she exclaimed, "and I think you're oldenough to understand that such a thing would be impossible. Jack won'tmake enough money to keep a wife for years and years. " She hesitated, andthen added, speaking to herself rather than to Timmy, "Still, I hope withall my heart that he won't get foolish about her. "

"He _is_ foolish about her, " said Timmy positively. "Even Nannathinks"--he waited a moment, then said carefully--"that he is pastpraying for. She said yesterday to Betty that there were some thingsprayers didn't help in at all, and that love was one of them. She saysthat Jack's heart has gone out of his own keeping. Isn't that a funnyidea, Mum?"

"It is a terrible idea, " and, a little to her own surprise, tears rose toJanet Tosswill's eyes. Timmy, looking up into her face, felt his heartswell with anger against the person who was causing his mother to look asshe was looking now. 

He moved away a little bit, as if aware that what he was going to saywould not meet with her approval, and then he said in a peculiar voice, a defiant, obstinate voice which she knew well: "I do wish that Mrs. Crofton would die--I do hate her so!"

Janet Tosswill looked straight into her little son's face. She felt thatshe had perhaps made a mistake in treating Timmy as if he were grown up. "My dear, " she said very gravely, "remember the Bible says--'Thou shaltnot kill. '"

"Of course I know _that_, "--he spoke with a good deal of scorn. "Ofcourse I want her to die a _natural_ death. "

CHAPTER XVI

"No, you mustn't come in; I'm tired. Besides, I've got someone coming totea. "

The ready lie slipped easily off Enid Crofton's tongue, as Jack Tosswilllooked down into her face with a strained, pleading look. They werestanding in the deserted road close to the outside door set in thelichen-covered wall of The Trellis House. It was already getting dusk, for they had been for a long walk. 

"I shall never, never forget to-day!" He gripped her hand hard as hespoke, and she looked up and down the empty road a little apprehensively. But no one was coming or going, and the group of little old cottagesopposite The Trellis House held as yet no twinkling lights. 

"I shall never forget it, either, " she said softly. "But I really _must_go in now--you know we are meeting this evening?"

"May I come and fetch you?" he asked. 

"No, I'd rather you didn't do that--if you don't mind, " and then, seeinghis look of deep disappointment, she added, "Perhaps you will walk backwith me after dinner?"

"Of course I will, but I'm afraid Radmore or one of the girls will wantto come too. "

As he gazed down into her face there was a look of infinite longing inhis eyes, and even she felt a certain touch of genuine emotion sweep overher. It is so very, very delicious to be loved. 

"Good-bye, darling, " he whispered huskily; and, before she had time tostop him, he had taken her in his arms and kissed her, passionately, lingeringly. Then, with no other word, he released her and went offquickly down the road. 

 * * * * *

After Enid Crofton had shut the heavy door in the wall behind her, shedid not go straight along the path which led to her front door. Instead, she turned in the gathering darkness to the left, and started walkinground the garden which in daylight looked so different, now that JackTosswill had put in so many hard mornings' work at it. 

She felt more surprised and moved by what had happened this afternoonthan she would have thought possible. Poor Jack! Poor, foolish, adoring, priggish boy!

When he had come in this morning, bringing the note of invitation fromhis step-mother, he had seemed excited and ill at ease. She had feltvexed at his coming so early, as she was anxious to superintend thejam-making herself. Enid Crofton had a very practical side to hercharacter, and she was the last person to risk the wasting of good sugarand good fruit through the stupidity of an inexperienced cook. 

While Jack was still there one of her new acquaintances had come in for amoment, for she had already made herself well liked in the neighbourhood, and after the visitor had gone, Jack, exclaiming angrily that they werenever left in peace together, had begged her to go for a walk with himthat afternoon. This she had consented to do, after discovering thatGodfrey Radmore had gone up to London for the day. 

And then, during their walk, Jack had suddenly made her a pompous offerof marriage!

No wonder she smiled mischievously to herself, when pacing slowly up anddown the path between a row of espaliered apple trees. 

She told herself that in a sense it had been her fault. They were sittingon a fallen tree trunk, in a lonely little wood, Jack, as he seldom was, tongue-tied and dull. Piqued, she had twitted him on his silence. Andthen, all at once, he had turned and, seizing her roughly, had kissed herwith the pent-up passion of a man in love who till now has never kissed awoman. 

Pacing slowly in her dark garden, Enid Crofton's pulse quickened atthe recollection of those maladroit, hungry kisses. Something--a mereglancing streak of the great shaft of ecstasy which enveloped JackTosswill's whole being had touched her senses into what had seemed tohim marvellous response. 

When at last he had released her, and in words of at once triumphant andhumble adoration, had made her an offer of marriage, she had felt it anabsurd anti-climax to a very delicious and, even in her well-storedmemory, a unique experience. 

And now she remembered the last time a man had kissed her. It was quitea little while ago, on the day she had taken possession of The TrellisHouse. Of course Captain Tremaine had tipped the guard so that theyshould have a carriage to themselves. But she had been uncomfortablyaware that he was half-ashamed of himself--that he remembered, all thetime, that she was a newly-made widow. 

Somehow Jack Tosswill hadn't remembered that. Jack hadn't thought of it. But oh! how absurd he had been when his first rapture was over. Withouteven waiting for an answer to his proposal, he had coolly suggested theyshould wait till he had made a start at the Bar! At last she had managedto make him listen to her plea that, till a year had elapsed, she couldnot think of re-marriage. And he had believed her!

All at once she told herself, a little ruefully, that she had perhapsbeen foolish; that this affair, slight and altogether unimportant as itwas, might become a tiresome complication. Of course she could keep himin order, but she was well aware that when a man had kissed her once, hegenerally wanted to kiss her again, and very soon. 

In principle, she had no objection to Jack Tosswill's kisses. There wassomething fresh, alluring, wholly delightful, even to so hardened a flirtas was Enid Crofton, in being the object of a youth's first love. But shetold herself, almost fiercely, that she must make him understand very, very clearly that, though they might sometimes kiss, they must never becaught. Fortunately Jack was curiously cautious for so young a man. Thathad been one of the reasons why she had been tempted to--well--to makehim lose his head. 

And then another figure, one of far greater importance and moment toherself than poor Jack Tosswill, came and challenged Enid Crofton toanxious attention. How did she stand with regard to Godfrey Radmore?

She stopped in her pacing, and stared straight before her. For the firsttime in her life she was quite at a loss as to what a man, of whom shewas seeing a great deal, really felt about her. 

Rosamund Tosswill was very young, and Enid secretly thought her verystupid, but there could be no doubt as to her essential truthfulness. Now, a day or two ago, Rosamund had said: "Isn't it funny of Godfrey? Hetold Janet when he first came here that he had made up his mind to remaina bachelor!"

And yet they two, she, Enid, and Godfrey, had had something tantamount toan emotional little scene the first time he had come to see her at TheTrellis House. True, it had only lasted two or three seconds, but whileit lasted it had been intense. Had Timmy Tosswill not burst into the roomin that stupid, inopportune way, Radmore would have certainly taken herin his arms. Though Radmore was no innocent, high-principled boy, evenone kiss between them would have altered their whole attitude, the one tothe other. She would have seen to that. In her heart she had cursed Timmyfor his idiotic intrusion, and now she cursed him again. 

Lately she had thought Radmore was becoming aware of Jack Tosswill'sgrowing absorption in her, and she had suspected, as well as hoped, thathe was a trifle jealous. Now jealousy, as Enid knew well, is a potentquickener of feeling between a man and a woman. It was unfortunate thatRadmore seemed to regard Jack Tosswill as a mere boy--a rather tiresome, priggish boy. Still, that had its good side. Jack was only a very slightcomplication after all!

Again she cast a fleeting thought to Tremaine. In a sense he was her realmate, her real soul, and, yes, body mate. If only he wasn't so poor! Shefelt for a moment tempted to throw up everything--to do what he had sourged her to do, what he was always writing and begging her to do. Thatwas to marry him quickly just before the end of his leave, and go out toIndia with him. He wrote to her every day, and his last letter was in thelittle silk bag now hanging on her arm. 

It was the kind of love-letter that Enid understood, and enjoyedreceiving: full of ardent, if rather commonplace, expressions, and ofcomparisons, very pleasant to her vanity, between her pretty self and thestupid, ugly women he said he was now meeting. He had been with hispeople in Cornwall--but for that he would of course have come down to seehow she was getting on. In this particular letter he announced that hewas going to be in London very soon, and might he run down for a day? Hehad added a question, chaffingly worded, and yet, as she well knew, seriously intended. Did she think it would be improper for him to comeand spend two or three days with her? And now she told herself, verydecidedly, that of course she couldn't have him here--in stupid, old-fashioned Beechfield. It would be a tiresome, useless complication. But why shouldn't she go up to London for three or four days and have agood time with him there?

Enid was well aware that absence frequently makes the heart grow fonder, and that distance does lend enchantment to the view. But she would nothave put it in those exact words. 

At last she began walking towards the house, telling herself that shefelt oddly tired, and that it would be very pleasant, for once, to have asolitary cup of tea. Her house-parlourmaid was shaping very nicely. Thusthe girl had evidently brought the lamps into the sitting-room, thoughshe had forgotten to draw the curtains. 

Enid knocked and rang. She had a theory that the possession of a latchkeyby their mistress makes servants slow to answer the door. 

"There's a person waiting for you in the drawing-room, ma'am. She saysshe's come down on purpose from London to see you. She came just afteryou went out first. "

There swept over Enid Crofton a strong, sudden premonition of evil. Sherealised that for the last ten days she had been secretly dreading thatthis would happen to her. She blamed herself sharply, now that it was toolate, for having done nothing further to help the Pipers; but she hadhoped the five pounds would have kept them quiet. 

"I'll go upstairs and take off my things, " she said wearily. "Bring me acup of tea in my bedroom--I don't want anything to eat--and then I'llcome down and see this person. " She forced herself to add, "I supposeit's a Mrs. Piper?"

The girl answered at once, "She didn't give her name, ma'am. She justsaid that she wanted to see you, and that it was urgent. She's not gotvery long; she wants to catch the six o'clock train from Telford. Shewouldn't believe at first that you wasn't in. "

Enid found some comfort in those words, and she made up her mind that shewould linger upstairs as long as she possibly could, so as to cut shorther coming interview with the tiresome young woman. After all there wasvery little to say. She had behaved in a kind and generous manner to herlate husband's servant, and she had already said she would do her best tohelp him again. 

When she got upstairs she lit the two high brass candlesticks on thedressing-table, and then, after she had taken off her hat and long blackwoollen coat, she sat down in her easy-chair by the wood fire. Soon therecame a familiar rap and a welcome cup of tea. 

She was sipping it, luxuriously, when there suddenly came a verydifferent kind of rap on the door. It was a sharp, insistent knock, and before she could call out "Come in, " the door opened, and asingular-looking figure advanced into the luxurious-looking, low-ceilinged bedroom. 

"Excuse me coming up like this, Modam. But I'm afraid of losing mytrain. "

The speaker was small and stout, with a sallow face which might once haveheld a certain gipsy-like charm, for, in the candlelight, the luminousdark eyes were by far its most arresting feature. She wore a small, old-fashioned-looking, red velvet bonnet perched on her elaboratelydressed hair. 

Enid Crofton looked at her odd-looking visitor with astonishment. Who onearth could this be? Certainly not Piper's wife. A feeling of intenserelief came over her when the strange-looking woman came towards herwith a soft, gliding step, and handed her a card on which was written:

 Madame Flora

 Ladies' wardrobes, gold teeth, and old jewellery purchased at the highest prices known in the trade

"I do 'ope you will excuse me coming up like this, " she said again, andher queer Cockney voice sounded quite pleasantly in Enid Crofton's ears. "I've not got very long, and I've been 'ere since four o'clock. "

As she spoke she did not look at the pretty young lady sitting by thefire. Her dark eyes were glancing furtively round the attractivelyfurnished bedroom, as if appraising everything that was there, from theuncommon-looking high brass candlesticks on the dressing-table to thepink silk covered eiderdown and drawn linen coverlid on the bed. 

Perhaps because she was so extraordinarily relieved, Enid Crofton spoketo this somewhat impudent old-clothes woman very graciously. 

"I'm sorry, " she began, "but I've nothing in the least suitable for you, Madame Flora. It's a pity you wasted your time waiting for me. There areseveral other people in Beechfield with whom I expect you might have donebusiness. " She smiled as she spoke. 

"I wish I'd thought of that, Modam. " The woman spoke with a touch ofregret. "But your maids expected you might be back any minute, and I didwant to meet you, for Piper's that down on 'is luck, I sometimes don'tknow what to do with 'im! Instead of wanting to employ ex-soldiers, as incourse they ought ter, people seem just to avoid them--"

"Piper?" repeated Enid Crofton in a low, hesitating voice. "Then are youMrs. Piper?"

Was it conceivable that this strange-looking old thing was Piper's wife?

"I've been Mrs. Piper eighteen years, " replied Madame Flora composedly, "but I've always kep' on my business, Modam. It's not much of a businessnow, worse luck! Ladies won't part with their clothes, not when they'redropping off them. In old days, if Piper was down, I was up, so we wasall right. But we've both struck a streak of bad luck. "

For a few moments neither of them spoke. Mrs. Crofton was staring, astonished, at her visitor, and through her shallow mind there ran thenew thought of how very, very little any of us know of other people'slives. After her first shock of dismayed surprise to find that Piper wasmarried at all, she had imagined Piper's wife as something young and, ofcourse, in a way, attractive and easily managed. 

"Did you ever come down to my house in Essex?" she asked, still trying tospeak pleasantly. 

"No, Modam, I never was there. Piper and I 'as always kep' clear of eachother's jobs, and I wouldn't be interfering _now_, but that the matter'sbecoming serious. Piper's worse than no good when 'e's idle. " Shehesitated, then went on, "If 'e's to keep off 'is failing, 'e must beworking. "

There was a pause, and then Enid Crofton spoke, in a low, uncertain tone. "Believe me, Mrs. Piper, when I say that I really will do all I can forhim. But it's not easy now to hear of good jobs, and Piper doesn't seemeasy to suit. "

"You wouldn't care to take my 'usband on again yourself, Modam?"

Again there followed that curious pause which somehow filled Enid with avague fear. 

"I wish I could, " she said at last, "but I can't afford it, Mrs. Piper. As a matter of fact, I've done a foolish thing in coming here, toBeechfield, at all. Only the other day one of my husband's relationsadvised me to let the house. "

"Piper thinks, Modam, as how you might 'elp 'im to a job with MajorRadmore. " The name tripped quickly off the speaker's tongue, as if shewas quite used to the sound. 

Enid felt a throb of dismay. Did the Pipers know Godfrey Radmore wasback?

"We was wondering, " said the woman, "if you would give us the major'saddress?"

Then they didn't know he was back--or did they?

"I don't know it. "

Enid Crofton was one of those women--there are more than a truthful worldsuspects--who actually find it easier to lie than to tell the truth. Butshe saw the look of incredulity which flashed over the sallow face of herunwelcome visitor. 

"Mr. Radmore, " she went on hastily, "is taking a motor tour. But he'll beback in London soon, and I'll let you know the moment I know he's settleddown. "

"I should 'ave thought, " said the woman, "that the Major would 'ave 'ad aclub where Piper could 'ave written. "

"If he has, I don't know it. "

And then, all at once, Enid Crofton pulled herself together. After allthe interview was going quite smoothly. Nothing--well, disagreeable--hadbeen said. 

She got up from her chair. "I hope you'll forgive me, Mrs. Piper, forsaying that Piper will never keep any job if he behaves as he did withthese last people--I had a very disagreeable letter from the lady. "

Mrs. Piper, alias Madame Flora, grew darkly red. 

"Piper 'ad a shock this last July, " she said, moving a little fartherinto the room, and so nearer to Enid Crofton. "The thing's beena-weighing on 'is mind for a long time. It's something 'e won't exactlyexplain. But it's on 'is conscience. Only yesterday 'e says to me, 'esays, 'If I'm drinking, my dear, it's to drown care; I ought to havespoken up very differently to what I done at the poor Colonel's inquest. "

The terrible little woman again took a step or two forward, and then shewaited, as if she expected the lady to say something. But Enid, thoughshe opened her lips, found that she could not speak. Hardly knowing whatshe was doing, she sat down again. And, after what seemed to the owner ofthe attractive, candle-lit room an awful silence, Mrs. Piper went on, speaking now in quite a different tone--easy, confidential, and with atouch of wheedling good nature in it. 

"Thanks to your late gentleman, Piper knows all about dogs, and all'e requires, Modam, to set 'im up as a dogfancier, so to speak, is amoderate bit o' money. As 'e says 'imself, five hundred pound would do iteasy. If I may make so bold, that's what reely brought me 'ere, Mrs. Crofton. It do seem to us both, that, under the circumstances, you mightfeel disposed to find the money?"

Enid looked down as she answered, falteringly: "I told Piper some timeago that it was quite impossible for me to do anything of the kind. "

In her fear and distress she uttered the words more loudly than she wasaware, and the woman looked round at the closed door with an apprehensivelook: "Don't speak so loud. We don't want to tell everyone our business, "she said sharply. 

Now she came quite close up to her victim, for by now Enid Crofton knewthat she was in very truth this woman's victim. 

"You think it over, " whispered Madame Flora. "We're not in a 'urry to aday or two. And look here, Modam, I'll be open with you! If you'll dothat for Piper, it'll be in full discharge of anything you owe 'im--d'youtake my meaning?"

Enid Crofton got up slowly from her chair almost as an automaton mighthave done. She wanted to say that she did not in the least know what Mrs. Piper _did_ mean. But somehow her lips refused to form the words. She wasafraid even to shake her head. 

"I told you a fib just now"--Mrs. Piper's voice again dropped to awhisper. "Piper's made a clean breast o' the matter to me, and I do thinkas what it's common justice to admit that my 'usband's evidence at thatinquest was worth more than twenty-five pound to you. It wasn't whatPiper said; _it was what 'e didn't say that mattered_, Mrs. Crofton. It'sbeen on 'is mind awful--I'll take my Bible oath on that. But 'live andlet live, ' that's my motter. We don't want to do anything unkind, butwe're in a fix ourselves--"

"I haven't got five hundred pounds, " said Enid Crofton desperately;"that's God's truth, Mrs. Piper. "

To that assertion Madame Flora made no direct answer; she only observed, in a quiet conversational tone, and speaking no longer in a whisper. "Theinsurance gent told Piper as what 'e was not entirely satisfied, and 'esaid as 'e'd be pleased to see Piper any time if anything 'appened ascould throw further light on the Colonel's death. 'An extraordinaryoccurrence'--that's what the insurance people's gentleman called it, Mrs. Crofton--'an extraordinary occurrence. '"

And then Enid was stung into saying a very unwise thing. "The Coroner didnot think it an extraordinary occurrence, " she said quietly. 

"'E says sometimes as what 'e ought to give 'imself up and say what 'esaw, " went on Mrs. Piper with seeming irrelevance. 

There was another brief pause: "If you 'aven't got five hundred pounds, Modam, I take it the insurance money has not yet been paid, for it was amatter of two thousand pounds--or so Piper understood from that partywhat came down to make enquiries. "

Enid Crofton looked at her torturer dumbly. She did not know what tosay--what to admit, and what to deny. 

"Think it over, " said the terrible little woman. "We're not in a 'urry toa day or two. We'll give you a fortnight to find the money. "

She put her hand, fat, yet claw-like, on Mrs. Crofton's shoulder. "There's nothing to look so frightened about, " she said a little gruffly. "Piper and me aren't blackmailers. But we've got to look out forourselves, same as everybody else does. It's Piper's idea--that fivehundred pounds is. 'E says 'twould ease 'is conscience to carry on thepore old Colonel's dog-breeding. As for me, I'd just as lief 'ave 'im ina good job--what gentlefolk call 'a cushy job'--with a gentleman likethis Major Radmore seems to be. But there! Piper's just set on them nastydogs, and 'e's planned it all out. "

"Five hundred pounds is a great deal of money. " Enid Crofton spoke in adull, preoccupied tone. 

"Not so much as it used to be, not by any manner of means, " saidMrs. Piper shrewdly. "Think it over, Mrs. Crofton--and let us knowwhat you _can_ do. Perhaps it needn't be paid all in one; but best towrite to Piper next time. 'E says 'e'd like to feel you and 'im werepartners-like. I'll tell 'im I arranged for you to 'ave ten days to afortnight to think it over. "

"Thinking won't make money, " said Enid in a low voice. 

"Such a beautiful young lady as yourself, Modam, can't find it difficultto put 'er 'and on five hundred pounds, " murmured Mrs. Piper, and as shesaid the words there came a leering smile over her small, pursed-upmouth. 

And then, turning, she glided across the candle-lit room, and noiselesslyopening the door, she slid through it. 

Enid Crofton sank farther back into her chintz-covered easy-chair. Shewas trembling all over, and her hands were shaking. She had not felt sofrightened as she felt now, even during the terrible moments which hadpreceded her being put in the witness-box at the inquest held on herhusband's body; and with a feeling of acute, unreasoning terror, sheasked herself how she could cope with this new, dreadful situation. 

What, for instance, did that allusion to the insurance company mean? Shehad had the two thousand pounds, and she had spent about a quarter of itpaying bills of which her husband had known nothing. Then the settlingin at The Trellis House had cost a great deal more than she had expected. Of course she had some left, but five hundred pounds would make a hideoushole in her little store. 

What could the Pipers do to her? Could they do anything? The sinisterwoman's repetition of Piper's curious remark, "'E says sometimes as what'e ought to give 'imself up, and say what 'e saw, " came back to her withsickening vividness. 

She looked round her, timorously. The candles on her dressing-table gavesuch a poor light. How stupid of a village like Beechfield not to haveelectric light! She stood up and rang for a hot-water bottle. At any rateshe might as well try to get a little beauty sleep before dressing to goto the Tosswills. 

CHAPTER XVII

Although no definite suggestion or order had been issued by JanetTosswill, it was understood by everyone in Old Place that special honourwas to be paid to Mrs. Crofton this evening. 

Janet, when giving Betty a slight but vigorous sketch of the scene whichhad taken place between herself and Jack, observed, "If she's _that_ sortof woman I think we ought to give her a proper dinner, don't you?" AndBetty heartily agreed. 

This was the reason why Betty herself, Tom, who acted as butler, andTimmy, who was supposed to help generally both in the kitchen and in thedining-room, did not sit down to table with the others. 

Mrs. Tosswill's sarcastic observation was so far justified in that EnidCrofton did feel vaguely gratified to find herself treated to-night farmore as a guest of honour than she had been on the first occasion whenshe had come to the house. The guest herself had done honour to the feastby putting on the most becoming of her diaphanous black evening dresses, and, as she sat to the right of her host, each of her three femininecritics admitted to their secret selves that she was that rather rarething, a genuinely pretty woman. Features, colouring, hair, were all asnear perfection as they well could be, while her slight, rounded figurewas singularly graceful. 

How fortunate it is that we poor mortals cannot see into each other'shearts and minds! Who, looking at Jack Tosswill's composed, secretive, self-satisfied face, could have divined, even obscurely, his state ofmingled pride, ecstasy, and humble astonishment at his own good fortune?To him the lovely young woman sitting next his father was as much his ownas though they had already been through the marriage ceremony, and hefelt awed and uplifted as well as triumphantly glad. 

As for Godfrey Radmore, he also was affected rather more than he wouldhave cared to admit even to himself by the presence of Enid Crofton thisevening. 

She had become to him something of a mystery, and there is alwayssomething alluring in a mystery, especially if the mystery be young, andendowed with that touch of pathos which makes feminine beauty always atouch more attractive to the masculine heart. He was aware that shepreferred to see him alone, and this flattered him. While he was ableto assure himself confidently that he was in no sense in love with her, his heart certainly beat a little quicker on the comparatively fewoccasions when he went over into her garden, or, better still, into herlittle sitting-room, and found her by herself. He also thought it verygood-natured, if a little tiresome, of her, to put up with so much ofthe company of a prig like Jack, and of a selfish girl like Rosamund. 

To-night Radmore wondered, not for the first time, why Janet Tosswill didnot like Enid Crofton, for he felt, somehow, that there was no love lostbetween them. He told himself that he must ask Betty to try to becomefriends with her. Instinctively he relied on Betty's judgment, and thatthough he saw very little of her, considering what very old friends heand she were. And then, when he was thinking these secret, idle thoughts, he became suddenly conscious that Betty was not among those sitting atthe full dining-table. 

When Tom came in, bearing a huge soup tureen, and looking, it must beconfessed, very red and embarrassed, Janet observed composedly that theperson on whom they had relied to help them to-night had failed them atthe last moment, and they had decided that it would be simpler for themto wait on themselves. 

Radmore muttered to his neighbour, Rosamund, "Where's Betty?"

"In the kitchen. She's the only one of us who knows how to cook. She_loves_ cooking. She'll come into the drawing-room later if she's not tootired. "

Radmore felt indignant. It was too bad that Betty, whom he vividlyremembered as the petted darling of the house, should now have become--toput it in a poetical way--the family Cinderella! But as the dinner wenton, and as the soup was succeeded by some excellent fish, as well as byroast chicken, a particularly delicious blackberry fool, and a subtlycomposed savoury, he began to wonder whether some good professional cookhad not been got in after all. He could hardly believe that Betty hadcooked and dished up this really excellent dinner. 

All through the meal Timmy flitted in and out, bringing round andremoving the plates, but it was Tom who did most of the waiting. 

At last Janet, catching Enid Crofton's eye, got up and deliveredas parting injunction, "Please don't stay too long behind us, gentlemen--we're going to have coffee in the drawing-room. "

Jack Tosswill sprang to the door, and tried to catch Mrs. Crofton's eyeas she passed out first, but of course he failed, and as he came back tothe table, he observed: "I do hope Betty won't be too tired to come intothe drawing-room. Mrs. Crofton was saying the other day that she wishedshe knew her better. " He was in a softened mood, the kind of mood whichmakes a man not only say, but think, pleasant things. 

And then Mr. Tosswill made one of his rare practical remarks. "I havealways thought that every woman ought to be taught cooking, " he saidmusingly. "We have certainly just had a very good dinner; I must rememberto tell Betty how much I enjoyed that savoury. "

"Did Betty cook it all?" asked Radmore. 

It was Jack who answered, "Yes, of course she did. Early in the War therewas a great shortage of cooks in some of the country hospitals, and soBetty asked a friend of ours to allow her to spend a few weeks in herkitchen. So now we have the benefit of all she learnt there. "

Five minutes later the three men stood at the open door of thedrawing-room, and at once Radmore saw that Betty was not there. That wasreally too bad! What selfish girls her sisters were!

Acting on an impulse he could not have analysed, he stepped back into thecorridor and walked quickly towards the green baize door which led to thekitchen quarters. Just as he reached it, the door burst open, and Tom, rushing through, almost knocked him over. 

"Hullo! Steady there! Where are you going?"

"I'm so sorry, Godfrey, but I'm in the devil of a hurry, for I've got toclear the dining-room. Once that's done, my work's over, and I can gointo the drawing-room. " Tom was grinning good-humouredly. "I say, Mrs. Crofton does look a peach to-night, doesn't she?"

Even as he spoke, he was hooking the door back. Then he hurried into thedining-room without waiting for an answer. 

Godfrey went on with rather hesitating steps down the broad, stone-flagged passage. According to tradition, this part of Old Place wasmediæval, and it was certainly quite different from the rest of thehouse. He felt a little awkward for he knew he had no business there, and when he got to the big, vaulted kitchen, he stopped and looked roundhim dubiously. The fire in the old-fashioned, wasteful range had beenallowed to die down, and on the round wooden table in the middle of theroom were heaped up the dinner plates and dishes. 

Suddenly he noticed that the door which led into the scullery was ajar, and he heard Betty's clear, even voice saying: "When you've tidiedyourself up a bit, run down and let me see how you look. I'm afraidthey're not likely to play any games this evening. It's a real, properdinner-party, you know, Timmy. "

Then he heard his godson's eager voice. "Oh, Betty, do come too! Mrs. Jones can do the washing-up to-morrow morning. If you want to dress I'llhook you up. "

"I'm too tired to go up and dress, " and Betty's voice did sound veryweary. There was a despondent note in it, too, which surprised the manstanding in the kitchen. Excepting during the few moments, to himintensely moving and solemn moments, when they had spoken of Georgewithin a day or two of his return to Beechfield, he had always seen Bettyextraordinarily cheerful. 

"You can go just as you are, " he heard Timmy say eagerly. "You couldpretend you'd just been to a fancy ball as a cook!" He added, patronizingly, "If you put on a clean apron, you'll look quite nice. "

Radmore did not catch the answer, but he gathered that it was again inthe negative, and a moment later Timmy's little feet scampered up theuncarpeted flight of stairs which led into the upper part of the house. 

Walking forward, he quietly pushed open the scullery door, and for someseconds he stood unseen, taking in the far from unattractive scene beforehim. 

The scullery of Old Place was a glorified kind of scullery, for, justbefore the War, Janet had spent a little of her own money on "doing itup. " Since then she had often congratulated herself on the fact that inthe days when the process was comparatively cheap, she had had thescullery walls lined five feet up with black and white tiles matching thelinoleum which covered the stone floor. 

Against this background Betty Tosswill was now standing, a trim, neatfigure, in her pink cotton gown and big white apron. She was engaged inwashing, drying, and polishing the fine old table glass which had beenused that evening. 

It was such a relief to her to be alone at last! For one thing, thoughTimmy and Tom both loved her dearly, their love never suggested to themthat it must be disagreeable to her to hear them constantly bickeringthe one with the other, and they would have been surprised indeed hadthey known how their teasing squabbles had added to the strain andfatigue of serving the elaborate dinner she had just cooked. 

She felt spent, in body and in mind, and in the mood when a woman craves, above all things, for solitude. 

"Look here, Betty, can't I do anything to help?"

She started violently, and gave a little cry, while the stem of thewine-glass she held in her hand snapped in two. But Radmore, to herrelief, did not notice the little accident. 

"There isn't anything to do, thank you. " She tried to speak composedlyand pleasantly. "I'm going to leave most of the washing-up to the womanwho comes in every morning to help us. "

"Then why don't you come into the drawing-room now? I heard what Timmysaid--and it's quite true!"

"What Timmy said just now?" She turned and looked at him, puzzled. 

Godfrey Radmore, in his well-cut dress clothes and the small, butperfect, pearl studs in the shirt of which she had heard Jack openly envythe make and cut, seemed an incongruous figure in the Old Place scullery. 

He blundered on. "Timmy said that you look as if you had been at a fancydress ball as a cook. He ought to have said 'cordon bleu, ' for I've nevereaten a better dinner!"

And then to his aghast surprise, Betty sat down on one of the woodenchairs near the table where she had been standing and burst into tears. "I don't want to be a 'cordon bleu, '" she sobbed. "I _hate_ cooking--andeverything connected with cooking. " Then, feeling ashamed of herself, shepulled a clean handkerchief out of her apron pocket, and dabbed her eyes. "I'm just tired out, that's what it is!" she exclaimed, trying to smile. "We had a worrying half-hour, thinking the fish was not going to arrive. You see, Janet dislikes poor Mrs. Crofton so much that she suddenly madeup her mind that it was her duty to kill the fatted calf, and in such acase I have to do the killing!"

"It's such a waste for you to be doing the things you are doing now. " Hespoke with a touch of anger in his voice. "Why, you and I hardly ever seeone another! After all, even if you've forgotten the old times, _I_ oftenremember them--I mean the times when you and I and George were so muchtogether and such good pals. I love every brick of Old Place because ofthose days. " He was speaking with deep feeling now. "Sometimes I feel asif I should like to run away--it's all so different here from what itused to be. "

He saw a kind, moved, understanding look come over her eyes, and firm, generous mouth, and quickly, man-like, he pressed his advantage. 

"Look here, " he said coaxingly, "don't you think we might hit on somekind of compromise? Won't you allow me just to get some sort of temporaryhousekeeper who can look after things while poor Nanna is laid up?"

She shook her head. "I don't think any of us would like that, " she said. "But I daresay I have become too much of a Martha. "

She got up, feeling painfully afraid that she was going to cry again. "I don't see why I shouldn't do as Timmy said--change my apron, I mean, and go into the drawing-room. For one thing, I should like to see Mrs. Crofton's dress. Tom says she looks a regular peach! That's his highestform of praise, you know. "

Radmore suddenly resolved to say something which had been on his mind oflate. "Don't you think that Jack's making rather a fool of himself overthat pretty little lady?"

Betty looked across at him with the frank, direct gaze that he rememberedso well. "I'm afraid he is, " she answered. "He and Janet had quite a rowabout her this morning. He seemed to think we had been rude to her; hewas most awfully huffy about it. But I suppose saying anything only makesthings worse in such a case, doesn't it?"

"I don't see why I shouldn't speak to _her_. She and I know each otherpretty well. She was a desperate little flirt when I first knew her inEgypt. " And then, as he saw a look cross her face to which he had noclue, he added hastily:--"She's quite all right, Betty. She's quite astraight little woman. "

"I'm sure she is, " said Betty cordially. 

She was wondering, wondering, wondering what Godfrey really thought ofEnid Crofton? Whether or no there had been a touch of jealousy in what hehad said about Jack just now? He had said the words about Jack's making afool of himself very lightly. Still there had been a peculiar expressionon his face. 

During the last fortnight, while doing the hundred and one things whichfell to her share, Betty had given the subject of Enid Crofton andGodfrey Radmore a good deal of thought, while telling herself all thetime that, after all, it was none of her business--now. 

All at once she became aware that Radmore was looking hard at her. "Lookhere, " he exclaimed, coming up close to where she was again engaged indrying and polishing the heavy old crystal goblets. "I want to ask youa favour, Betty. It's absurd that I should be here, with far more moneythan I know what to do with, while the only people in the world I carefor, are all worried, anxious, and overworking themselves. Janet saysit's impossible to get a cook. What I want to do if you'll let me--" helooked at her pleadingly, and Betty's heart began to beat: thus was hewont to look at her in the old days, when he wanted to wheedle somethingout of her. 

"What I want to do, " he went on eagerly, "is to go up to London to-morrowmorning and bring back a cook in triumph! Life has taught me _one_thing, --that is that money can procure anything. " As she remained silent, he added in a tone of relief, "There, that's settled! You go up to bednow. I'll be off early in the morning, and we'll have a cook back bylunch-time. "

"Indeed you won't!" She faced him squarely. "I know you mean very kindly, Godfrey--I know exactly how you feel. I've often felt like that myself;you feel that

 "'Sympathy without relief Is like mustard without beef. '

"That's the organ-grinder's motto, and a very good motto, too. But we'rethe exception which proves the rule. We're grateful for your sympathy, but we don't want your relief. "

As he gazed at her, both dismayed and very exasperated, she went on, speaking a little wildly:--"Mustard's a very good thing. I think I neededa little mustard just now to binge me up!"

"But that's perfectly absurd!" he exclaimed. "Why not have the beef aswell as the mustard? And look here. I don't think it's fair to me. " Hestood, looking straight at her, his face aglow with feeling. And againit was as if the old Godfrey of long ago, the Godfrey that had beenimpetuous, hot-tempered, unreasonable, and yet so infinitely dear to her, who stood there, so near to her that had she moved, he must have touchedher. She sat down, and unseen by him, she put her two hands on the edgeof the well-scrubbed table, and pressed her fingers down tightly. Thenshe smiled up at him, and shook her head. 

"You're treating me like a stranger, " he protested doggedly; "howeverbadly I've behaved, I've not deserved that. "

He was looking down at her hair, the lovely fair hair which had alwaysbeen her greatest beauty--the one beauty she now shared with Rosamund. Hewondered if it would ever grow long again. And yet now he told himselfthat he did not want to see her different from what she had become. 

"Treating you like a stranger? You're the first visitor we've had to stayat Old Place since the Armistice. "

As he said nothing, she went on, a little breathlessly, "D'you rememberwhat a lot of people used to come and go in the old days? That was one ofthe nice things about Janet. She loved to entertain our friends, evenour acquaintances. But now we never have anybody. It shows how we feelabout you that we are having you here, like this. But we can only do itif you'll take us as we are. "

"Of course I take you as you are, " he said aggrieved, "but I don't seewhy I shouldn't do my little bit, when it's so easy for me to do it. People talk such rot about money! They'll take anything in the world butmoney from those who--" he hesitated, and then boldly brought out theword--"love them. "

"And yet, " said Betty quietly, "you yourself contemptuously rejected themoney that father wanted to give you when he could well afford it--theday you left Beechfield nine years ago. "

He hesitated, unutterably astonished, and yes, very much moved, too, atthis, her first reference to their joint past. 

"I know I did, " he said at last, "and I was a fool to do it. That chequeof Mr. Tosswill's would have made all the difference to me during certainawful weeks in Australia when I didn't know where to turn for a shilling. I've been right up against it--the reality of things, I mean--and I knowboth how much and how little money counts in life. It counts a lot, Betty. "

"I've been up against the reality of things, too, " said Betty slowly, "and I've learnt how very little money counts. You'd have known that, ifyou'd been with the French Army. That was the difference between theFrench and the English. The French _poilu_ had no money at all, and theEnglish Tommy had plenty. But it made no difference in the big things. "

CHAPTER XVIII

Meanwhile Timmy, upstairs, had performed what was for him quite anelaborate toilet. He possessed a new Eton suit of which he was secretlyproud, for in this as in so many things unlike most little boys, he tookgreat care of his clothes, and had an almost finicking dislike to whatwas rough or untidy. His two younger sisters' untidiness was a perpetualannoyance to him, and he still felt sore and angry at the way Rosamundhad upset his toy-box when looking for that old prescription. 

To-night he felt queerly excited and above himself. After-dinner coffeehad been made in a way Betty had learnt in France, and she had foolishlyallowed him to drink a cup of the strong, potent, delicious fluid. Thishad had a curious effect on him, intensifying his already acuteperceptions, and making him feel both brave and bold as well aswary--wary Timmy Tosswill always was. 

And now he was eagerly debating within himself whether he could carryout an experiment he had an eager wish to try. It had filled his mind, subconsciously, ever since he had slipped quickly in front of his brotherJack to open the front door to Mrs. Crofton, a couple of hours ago. 

Mrs. Crofton was very much of a town lady, and she had actually beenaccompanied, during her short progress through the dark village, by herparlourmaid. When Timmy opened the front door, she had been engaged ingiving the girl a few last directions as to how a lighted candle was tobe left out for her in her hall, for she had brought her latchkey withher. After ringing the bell, the lady and her maid had moved away fromthe door a little way, and Timmy, staring out at the two figures, whostood illumined by the hall light out on the gravel carriage drive, hadseen Something Else. 

He did not invariably see Mrs. Crofton accompanied or companioned by thatof which he had spoken to his mother. Sometimes days would go by and hewould see nothing, though he was a constant, if never a welcome, visitorat The Trellis House. 

Then all at once, sometimes when she was in the garden, at other timesin the charming little parlour, Timmy would see the wraith of ColonelCrofton, and the wraith of Colonel Crofton's terrier, Dandy, looking asreal as the flesh-and-blood woman beside whom they seemed to stand. Sometimes they appeared, as it were, intermittently, but now and againthey would stay quite a long time. 

As long as he could remember, Timmy had been aware of what Nannaexpressed by the phrase "things that were not there, " and he was soaccustomed to the phenomena that it did not impress his own mind asanything very much out of the way, or strange. 

Dr. O'Farrell had always shown a keen interest in Timmy's alleged visionsand presentiments. Like so many country doctors of the old school, hewas a man not only of great natural shrewdness, but of considerableintellectual curiosity, and, from his point of view, by far the mostinexplicable of the little boy's assertions had concerned a long vanishedbuilding which had stood, for something like three centuries, close tothe parish church, right on the main street of the village. 

One Easter Sunday, Timmy, coming out of church, had excitedly exclaimedthat he saw to his right a house where no house had been up to yesterday. His sisters had laughed at him and his mother had snubbed him. But whenJanet had told Dr. O'Farrell of her little boy's latest and most peculiarclaim to having seen something which was not there, the doctor had gonehome and looked up an old county history, to find that up to Waterlooyear there had still been standing in the pretty little hamlet ofBeechfield, a small Elizabethan manor-house which had figured in theTitus Oates conspiracy. 

 * * * * *

But to return to the evening of Mrs. Crofton's second visit to Old Place. 

Timmy had given his mother his word of honour that Flick should not bereleased from the stable till their visitor had left. But no casuistever realised more clearly than did Timothy Tosswill, the delicatedistinctions which spread, web-like, between the spirit, and the letter, of a law. And while he moved nimbly about his bedroom, the plan, orrather the plot he had formed, took formal shape. 

Josephine, Timmy's white Angora cat, was now established in a comfortablebasket in a corner of the scullery. There she lay, looking like a ball ofermine, with her two ten-days old kittens snuggling up close to her. Josephine was a nervous, fussy mother, but she was devoted to her master, and he could do with her anything he liked. 

Very softly he crept past Nanna's door, and as he started walking downthe back staircase, he heard voices. 

Then Betty and Godfrey were still in the scullery? That was certainly abit of bad luck, for though he thought he could manage his godfather, heknew he couldn't deceive Betty. Betty somehow seemed to know by instinctwhen he, Timmy, was bent on some pleasant little bit of mischief. 

He need not have been afraid, for as he slowly opened the door at thebottom of the stairs, Betty exclaimed, "I'm going into the drawing-roomafter all! But first I must run upstairs and make myself tidy. You two goon, and I'll follow as soon as I can. "

She ran past Timmy, and at once the boy said firmly to Radmore, "I'mgoing to take my cat, Josephine, into the drawing-room. Ladies who hatedogs nearly always like cats. "

"I don't think Mrs. Crofton cares for cats, " answered Radmore carelessly. 

"Oh, yes, she does--and the other day she said The Trellis House wasoverrun with mice. Betty thinks it would be a very good home for one ofJosephine's new kittens. "

Even while he was speaking, the big white cat had left her basket and waswalking round her master, purring. He stooped down and lifted her up. 

"If Mrs. Crofton sees Josephine, she will simply long to have one of herkittens! Will you bring along the white one, Godfrey--the one we callPuff? We do so want to find him a good home. "

Radmore walked across to where the big basket stood on the floor, andpeered into it dubiously: "Why, Timmy, they're tiny! Poor littlewretches! I wouldn't dream of bringing one of them along--it would besheer cruelty. Of course you can bring the cat if you feel like it, butI shouldn't if I were you. "

"I'll only take her in for a minute. "

Timmy felt just a little sorry Radmore had refused to bring Puff along, for he was well aware that a cat is never so fierce as when she imaginesshe is defending her young. 

They went off together, Radmore in front, Timmy, hugging Josephine, behind. Just outside the drawing-room door the boy stopped for a moment, and shifted the cat's weight from one arm to the other. There had comeover him a rather uncomfortable premonition of evil, but he now feltstrung up to go through with his experiment. 

From within the drawing-room there came the sound of laughter andtalking. It was evident that the party was going well, and that everyonein there was merry and at their ease. 

"Would you mind opening the door, Godfrey?" There was a slight quiver ofapprehension in Timmy's voice. 

Radmore opened the door, and for a fleeting moment he saw an attractive, placid scene spread out before him. 

The two girls, in their pretty light dresses, were standing by the woodfire. On the sofa, to their left, with the light from one of the lampsfocussed full on her, sat Mrs. Crofton, her bare left arm hanging overthe side of the low couch. Jack, perched on the arm of a big chair, waslooking at her, all his soul in his eyes. Mr. Tosswill sat some way offunder a shaded reading lamp; his wife, knitting, not far from him. Tomwas surreptitiously reading a book in a corner behind the sofa. 

And then, all at once, Radmore found himself whirled into an unutterablescene of confusion and terror. 

As Timmy walked through the open door Josephine had leapt out of his armson to the floor. For a flashing second the cat stood on the carpet, herwhite fur all abristle, her back arched, and her tail lashing furiouslyin the air. Then, uttering a hoarse cry of rage and fear, she sprangtowards Mrs. Crofton, and dug first her claws, and then her teeth, intothe white arm that hung over the side of the couch. .. . Josephine'sterrified victim gave a fearful cry, everyone in the room got up andrushed forward, and at that exact instant Betty came into thedrawing-room. Sweeping a piece of embroidery off the piano, she threw itover the cat's head, took up the now struggling, helpless bundle, andrushed out of the room with it. 

Then followed a scene of appalling confusion. Enid, completely losingcontrol of herself, screamed and screamed and screamed. 

Few people, fortunately for themselves, have ever heard a woman scream, and some of those present felt they would never forget the sound. Inthe minds of most of the grown-up people there was the same unspokenquestion--had the cat suddenly gone mad? Had she got hydrophobia?

They all crowded round their unfortunate guest--all but Timmy, who stoodaside with a look in which remorse, fear, and triumph struggled formastery on his queer little face. 

And then at last, when Mrs. Crofton lay back, moaning, on the sofa, surrounded by her distracted and horrified hosts, somebody suggested thatDr. O'Farrell should be sent for, and Jack rushed into the hall to findBetty already at the telephone. 

Meanwhile Janet Tosswill was doing her best to persuade the victim ofJosephine's savage aggression to come upstairs and await the doctorthere; but, shudderingly, Enid Crofton refused to stir. 

A slight diversion was created when Betty came in with a basin of warmwater, soap, and a sponge. Again everyone crowded round the sofa, andJack and Radmore both felt alarm, as well as horror, when they saw thewounds made by the cat's claws and the cat's teeth. 

While her arm was being bathed, Mrs. Crofton grew so pale that Janetfeared she was going to faint, and Rosamund was sent flying up to themedicine cupboard to get some brandy. 

Dr. O'Farrell was at home when telephoned for, but the quarter of an hourwhich elapsed before he reached Old Place seemed very long to some of thepeople waiting there. The doctor came in smiling, but his face alteredand grew very grave when he saw Mrs. Crofton's arm, and heard theconfused, excited account of what had happened. 

To the patient he made light of the whole matter, but while someone wasputting on Mrs. Crofton's overshoes and while her evening cloak was beingbrought in he moved a little aside with Jack, Mr. Tosswill, and Radmore. None of them noticed that Timmy was hovering on the outskirts of thegroup. 

"I want to say, " he began in a low voice, "that of course that cat willhave to be kept under observation, or else she'll have to be destroyedand her body sent up to town to make sure of--you know what! Meanwhile, no one must go near her. Where is she now?"

Mr. Tosswill looked vaguely round. "I think Betty took her into thekitchen, " he said slowly, and then he called out, "Betty?"

The girl came up. "Yes, father?"

"What did you do with Timmy's cat?"

"I put her back in the scullery, with her kittens. They only opened theireyes yesterday. Of course Timmy ought never to have brought her into thedrawing-room. "

Dr. O'Farrell looked much relieved. He turned round: "Oh, she's just hadkittens, has she? That probably accounts for the whole thing. "

Mrs. Crofton roused herself. "I do hope that horrible cat will be killedat once, " she cried hysterically. "I can't stay in Beechfield if she'sleft alive. "

Dr. O'Farrell answered soothingly, "Don't you fret, Mrs. Crofton. She's avicious brute, and shot she shall be. "

No one noticed that Timmy had heard every word of this conversation; noone noticed the expression on his face. 

It had been arranged that the doctor should take Mrs. Crofton home in hiscar, and that only when she was comfortably in bed should those uglylittle wounds be properly dressed. 

As the doctor was hurrying down the passage into the hall, he wassurprised to see Timmy at his elbow and to hear the boy's voice pipe up:"If my cat's not mad, she won't have to be killed, doctor, will she?" Heasked the question in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone. 

"Yes, my little friend, mad or not mad, she's deserved death--and no onemust go near her till the fell deed is done!" And then, as he suddenlycaught sight of Timmy's strained, agonised face, he added kindly: "She'llbe in the cats' heaven before she knows she's touched. I'll come down inthe morning and I'll shoot her through the window myself--I'm a deadshot, Timmy, my boy. "

As Janet came along, Timmy burst out crying, and his mother, distracted, turned to Radmore. "Oh, Godfrey, do get him away upstairs! He's tiredout, that's what it is. Unfortunately the cat belongs to him, and he'svery fond of her--he's almost as fond of Josephine as he is of Flick. "

Radmore put his hand on his godson's shoulder. "Come, Timmy, don't cry. It's unmanly. "

But Timmy, instead of making an effort to control himself, wrenchedhimself away and ran down the long corridor towards the kitchen. Even asa tiny child he had hated to be caught crying. 

There followed an absurd scene at the front door, Jack and Rosamundalmost quarrelling as to which of them should accompany Mrs. Croftonhome. In the end they had both gone, and Janet, ordering everyone elseto bed, sat up, wearily awaiting their return, for neither of them hadthought of taking a latchkey. 

Poor Janet! Her thoughts were sad and worried thoughts, as she waited, trying to read, in the drawing-room. At the very last, Betty had lingeredfor a moment after the others, and she had noticed that the girl's eyeswere full of tears. 

"Why, Betty, what's the matter? I don't think we need really worry overMrs. Crofton. "

"I'm not thinking of Mrs. Crofton. I can't bear the thought of poorJosephine being shot to-morrow morning. "

"Oh, my dear, don't _you_ turn sentimental! I never did like that poorcat; to me there's always been something queer and uncanny about her. "

"You've never liked cats, " Betty answered, rather aggressively. "Timmyand I are devoted to Josephine--so is Nanna. "

Janet had checked the contemptuous words trembling on her lips. Abruptlyshe had changed the subject: "I want to tell you, Betty, how splendidlythe dinner went off to-night. Your cooking was first chop!"

Betty at once softened. But all she said was: "I would give anything forMrs. Crofton to leave Beechfield, Janet. Did you see Jack's face?"

"Yes, and I do feel worried about it. Yet one can't do anything. "

"I suppose one can't. But it's too bad of her. I think her a horridwoman. Jack is just a scalp to her. I don't mind her flirtation withGodfrey--that's much more reasonable!"

Then she had hurried off upstairs without waiting for an answer, and herstep-mother, looking back, rather wondered that Betty had said that. 

CHAPTER XIX

Two hours later Janet Tosswill, after having tried in vain to readherself to sleep, got out of bed and put on her dressing gown. Somehowshe felt anxious about Timmy. She had gone to his room on her way upto bed; but, hearing no sound, she had crept away, hoping that he hadalready cried himself to sleep. 

All sorts of curious theories and suspicions drifted through her mind asshe lay, tossing this way and that, trying to fall asleep. She wondereduneasily why Timmy had brought Josephine at all into the drawing-room. Of course there had been nothing exactly wrong in his doing so, though, as Betty had justly remarked, it was a stupid thing to do so soon afterthe birth of the cat's kittens. And Timmy was not stupid. 

Janet told herself crossly that it was almost as if Mrs. Crofton had theevil eye, as far as animals were concerned! There had come back to herthe unpleasant scene which had occurred on the first evening their lateguest had come to Old Place, when Flick, most cheerful and happy-mindedof terriers, had behaved in such an extraordinary fashion. Butdisagreeable as that affair had been, it was nothing to what had happenedto-night. 

She felt she would never forget the scene which had followed on the whitecat's attack on Mrs. Crofton. And yet, while concerned and sorry, she hadbeen shocked at the poor young woman's utter lack of self-control. 

It was quite true, as Betty had somewhat bitterly remarked, that she, Janet Tosswill, did not care for cats. Unfortunately there was a certainsentimental interest attached to Josephine, for she had been brought fromFrance as a kitten, a present from Betty to Timmy, by an officer who hadbeen George's closest pal. She was also ruefully aware that old Nannawould very much resent the disappearance of "French pussy, " as she hadalways called Josephine. As for Timmy, Janet had never seen her boy lookas he had looked to-night since the dreadful day that they had receivedthe War Office telegram about George. 

Leaving her room, she walked along the corridor till she came to Timmy'sdoor. She tried the handle, and, finding with relief that the door wasunlocked, walked in. At once there came a voice across the room, "Is thatyou, Mum?"

"Yes, Timmy, it's Mum. "

Shutting the door, she felt her way across the room and came and sat downon Timmy's bed. He was sitting up, wide awake. 

She put her arms round him. "I'm so sorry, " she said feelingly; "sosorry, Timmy, about your poor cat! But you know, my dear, that if--if shewere left alive, we could never feel comfortable for a single moment. Yousee, when an animal has done that sort of thing once, it may do itagain. "

"Josephine would never do it again, " said Timmy obstinately, and hecaught his breath with a sob. 

"You can't possibly know that, my dear. She would of course have otherkittens, and then some day, when some perfectly harmless person happenedto come anywhere near her, she would fly at him or her, just as she didat Mrs. Crofton. "

"No, she wouldn't--she didn't do anything like that when she had her lastkittens. "

"I know that, Timmy. But you heard what Dr. O'Farrell said. "

"Dr. O'Farrell isn't God, " said Timmy scornfully. 

"No, my dear, Dr. O'Farrell is certainly not God; but he is a verysensible, humane human being--and the last man to condemn even an animalto death, without good reason. "

There was a rather painful pause. Janet Tosswill felt as if the childwere withdrawing himself from her, both in a physical and in a mentalsense. 

"Mum?" he said in a low, heart-broken voice. 

"Yes, my dear?"

"I want to tell you something. "

"Yes, Timmy?"

"It's I who ought to be shot, not Josephine. It was all my fault. It hadnothing to do with her. "

"I don't know what you mean, Timmy. You mustn't talk in that exaggeratedway. Of course it was foolish of you to bring the cat into thedrawing-room, but still, you couldn't possibly have known that she wouldfly at Mrs. Crofton, or you wouldn't have done it. "

"I _did_ think she'd fly at Mrs. Crofton, " he whispered. 

Janet felt disagreeably startled. "What d'you mean, Timmy? D'you meanthat you saw the cat fly at her before it happened?"

She had known the boy to have such strange, vivid premonitions of eventswhich had come to pass. 

But Timmy answered slowly: "No, I don't mean that. I mean, Mum, that Iwanted to try an experiment. I wanted to see if Josephine would see whatFlick saw--I mean if she'd see the ghost of Colonel Crofton's dog. Shedid, for the dog was close to Mrs. Crofton's arm--the arm hanging overthe side of the sofa, you know. "

"Oh, Timmy! How very, very wrong of you to do such a thing!"

"I know it was wrong. " Timmy twisted himself about. "But it's no good yousaying that to me now--it only makes me more miserable. "

"But I _have_ to say so, my boy. " Janet was not a Scotch mother fornothing. "I have to say so, Timmy, and I shall not be sorry thishappened, if it makes you behave in a different way--as I hope itwill--the whole of your life long. "

"It won't--I won't let it--if anything is done to Josephine!"

But she went on, a little desperately, yet speaking in a quiet, collectedway: "I believe the things you say, Timmy. I believe you do see thingswhich other people are not allowed to see. But that ought to make youfar, far more careful--not less careful. Try to be an instrument forgood, not for evil, my dear, dear child. "

Timmy did not answer at once, but at last he said in a queer, muffledvoice: "If I were to tell Dr. O'Farrell what I did, do you think it wouldmake any difference? Do you think that he'd let Josephine go on beingalive?"

"No, " his mother answered, sadly, "I don't think it would make anydifference. "

"I thought by what the doctor said at first that they were going to takeJosephine somewhere to see if she was really mad, " said Timmy in achoking voice, "just as they did to Captain Berner's dog last year. "

Janet Tosswill got up from her little boy's bed. She lit a candle. PoorTimmy! She had never seen the boy looking as he was looking now; heseemed utterly spent with misery. 

"I'll tell you what I'll do, my dear. I'll speak to Dr. O'Farrell myselfin the morning, and I'll ask him whether something can't be done in theway of a reprieve. I'll tell him we don't mind paying for Josephine to besent away for a bit to a vet. "

Hope, ecstatic hope, flashed into Timmy's tear-stained face. "You mean toa man like Trotman?"

"Yes, that's what I do mean. But I mustn't raise false hopes. I fear Dr. O'Farrell has made up his mind; he promised Mrs. Crofton the cat shouldbe shot. Still, I'll do my _very_ best. "

Timmy put his skinny arms round his mother's neck. 

"I'm glad you're my mother, Mum, " he muttered, "and not my step-mother. "

She smiled for the first time. "That's rather a double-edged compliment, if I may say so! But I suppose it's true that I would do a good deal morefor you than I would for any of the others. "

"I didn't mean _that_, " exclaimed Timmy, shocked. "I only meant that Iwouldn't love you as well. I don't mean ever to be a step-father--I shallstart a lot of boys and girls of my own. "

"All right, " she said soothingly, "I'm sure you will. Lie down now, andtry to go to sleep. " She hoped with all her heart that the boy wouldsleep late the next morning, as he very often did when tired out, andthat the execution, if execution there must be, would be over by the timehe woke. 

She bent down, tucked him up, kissed him, blew out the candle, and thenwent quickly out of the room. 

 * * * * *

As soon as his mother had shut the door, Timmy sat up in bed, and thenhe gave a smothered cry. It was as if he had seen flash out into thedarkness his beloved cat's wistful face, her beautiful, big, china-blueeyes, gazing confidently at him, as if to say, "You'll save me, Master, won't you?"

He listened intently for a few minutes, then he slipped down and felt hisway to the door. He opened it; but there came no sound from the sleepinghouse. Closing the door very, very softly, he lit his candle and rapidlydressed himself in his day clothes, finally putting on a thick pair ofwalking shoes, and over them goloshes. Timmy hated goloshes, and neverwore them if he could help it, but he had read in some detective storythat they deadened sound. 

Then he blew his candle out, and again he went across to the door andlistened. Opening it at last, he slithered along the familiar corridortill he reached the three shallow steps which led up to the comparativelynew part of Old Place. There he felt his way with his fingers along thewall to the room which had always been called, as long as he couldremember, "George's room. " Turning the handle of the door slowly, he saw, to his great surprise and gladness, that his godfather was not asleep. 

Radmore was sitting up in bed, reading luxuriously by the light of fourcandles which he had placed on a table by his bedside. 

"Hello!" he exclaimed, as his godson's odd-looking little figure shuffledacross the room. "Why, what's the matter?" He spoke very kindly, forTimmy's face was scared, his eyes red-rimmed with crying. 

"Come to have a chat, old boy? Why, Timmy--" as he suddenly realised theboy was fully dressed, "whatever have you been doing? I thought you'dgone to bed ever so long ago!"

"I've been in bed a long time, " answered Timmy, sidling up close to hisbed, "but I've just had a talk with Mum. I've come to ask you, Godfrey, if you'll help me with something very important. " He added: "Even ifyou won't help me, I trust you to keep my secret. "

"Of course I'll keep your secret, old son. "

"I'm going to take Josephine and her kittens to Trotman, " Timmy announcedsolemnly. "I've been wondering, coming along the passage, if you wouldtake us there in your motor. But if you don't feel you want to do that, I'm going to walk. It's not very far, only seven miles if one goes byfootpaths, and I could get a lift back. "

"Trotman?" repeated Radmore. "Who's Trotman?"

It was Timmy's turn to be surprised. "I thought everyone--I mean everyman--in the world, knew about Trotman! Why, there was an account of himonce in the _London Magazine_. He's the famous vet--he lives at Epsom. "

Radmore lay back, and whistled thoughtfully. 

Timmy went on eagerly. "Last year there was a man near here who thoughthe had a mad dog--and he took _him_ to Trotman. Trotman kept him for everso long, and it turned out that the dog was not mad at all. I _know_ thatJosephine isn't mad. "

"I don't think she's mad, " said Radmore frankly, "but she's a prettyvicious brute, Timmy. Is this the first time she's ever flown at anyone?"He looked searchingly at his godson. 

"The very first time of all, " answered the boy passionately. "I know whyJosephine flew at Mrs. Crofton--at least she didn't fly at her--at Mrs. Crofton. She flew at the dog Mrs. Crofton always has with her. "

Radmore gave the child a long, steady look. 

"Come, Timmy, you know as well as I do that Mrs. Crofton had no dog withher. "

"She had a dog with her, " repeated Timmy obstinately. "It's not a dog_you_ can see, but I see him and Flick sees him. I wanted to see ifJosephine would see him too. That's why I took her in there. So if she'sshot it will be all my fault. " His voice broke, and, covering his facewith his hands, he turned his back on the bed and its occupant. 

Radmore stared at the small heaving back. There could be no doubt thatTimmy was speaking the truth _now_. "All right, " he said quickly. "I'lldo what you want, Timmy. So cheer up! I suppose you've got a big basketin which you can put your cat and her kittens? While I put on someclothes, you can go and get her ready. But I advise you for your own saketo be quiet. Our game will be all up, if your mother wakes. I simplyshouldn't dare to disobey _her_, you know. " He smiled quizzically at thechild, and, as he mentioned Janet, he lowered his voice instinctively. 

CHAPTER XX

However long Radmore lives, he will never forget that strange drivethrough the autumn night. Fortunately, from the two conspirators' pointof view, there were only old-fashioned stables at Old Place, andRadmore's car was kept in the village in a barn which had been cleverlytransformed by the blacksmith into a rough garage. 

While he dressed, and, indeed, after he joined the boy downstairs, he hadpuzzled over Timmy--over the mixture of cruelty and kindness the childhad shown that evening. He could not but recall, with a feeling ofdiscomfort, the simple, innocent way in which the boy had explained whyhe wanted to take his cat, Josephine, into the drawing-room--reallyto do a kindness to the mistress of The Trellis House! It was somewhatdisagreeable to reflect how he, Radmore, who rather prided himself onhis knowledge of human nature, had been taken in. 

Off the two started at last, creeping out of one of the back doors. Butin his agitation over the business of getting the cat and her kittenssafely out of Old Place, Timmy had forgotten to put on a coat. Theywere halfway down the avenue before Radmore noticed that the boy wasshivering, and then, mindful of Janet, he ordered him to go back and getthe warmest coat he could. 

And then, while he waited impatiently in the avenue, Radmore visualisedthe extraordinary scene which had taken place in the drawing-room lastevening. Had the cat really seen anything of a supernatural nature? Orwas it only that she had been frightened by being suddenly brought intoa room full of people? If so, it was perhaps natural that she had blindlyflown at the one stranger there. 

At last Timmy returned, and they started off, neither speaking a worduntil they were clear of the village. Radmore thought he knew every inchof the way, for he and Betty had once cycled together all over thecountryside. He checked a sigh as he thought of those days--how happy hehad been, with that simple, unquestioning happiness which belongs only toextreme youth. He wondered if Betty ever remembered those far-off days. They had come very near, the one to the other, last evening, and yet, from his point of view, theirs was an unsatisfactory kind of friendship. It was as if she was always holding something back from him. And then, while he was thinking of Betty, the little boy sitting by his sidesuddenly observed:

"Perhaps we might tell Betty--I mean when we get back again--whereJosephine and her kittens are? She was awfully upset last night; almostas upset as I was. You see, Josephine's a French cat. She was broughthome--I mean to England, you know--by the officer who now wants to marryBetty. " Timmy uttered these words in a very matter-of-fact voice. Then, for a moment, he forgot Betty, for the car swerved suddenly. 

"The officer who wants to marry Betty?" repeated Radmore. "I didn't knowthere was an officer who wanted to marry Betty. "

"Nobody's supposed to know, " said Timmy composedly. "But Mum and I, aswell as father, know. Only a very vulgar sort of girl lets anyone knowwhen someone wants to marry her. Mr. Barton is so ridiculous about Dolly, following her about and always looking at her, that we all know it, though Mum wonders sometimes if he knows it himself. But neither Dollynor Rosamund knows about Betty's man. Luckily, they were away when helast came here and saw father. The first time Betty meant him to sendthe kitten in a basket from London. She even gave him the money forJosephine's fare, but he _would_ give it back to father. He brought herhimself because he wanted to see father, and talk to him about Betty andGeorge. "

"Then he knew George, too?"

"Yes, that's how he got to know Betty, when she was in France, you know, and why she gave him the kitten to bring home on leave. He knew all about_us_, and when father called me into the study to take Josephine, hesaid: 'Is this Timmy?' And then after that he just went straight on aboutBetty, as if I wasn't there. He said that if he got through, he meant towait--he didn't mind how long, if only Betty would say 'Yes' in the end. "

"Has he been here since Betty came home?" asked Radmore abruptly. 

Somehow this revelation astonished and discomfited him very much. It hadnever occurred to him that Betty might marry. 

"No, " said Timmy. "He has never come again, for he's in Mesopotamia; buthe writes to Betty, and then she writes back to him. You see he was afriend of George's--that makes her like him, I suppose. "

They drove on for a while in silence, and then Timmy enquired, ratheranxiously: "You won't tell Betty I've told you, will you, Godfrey? Idon't think she wants anyone to know. He sent me a lovely picturepostcard once--it was to Timmy Tosswill, Esq. --and then I asked Bettywhether she meant to marry him, as he was such a nice sort of man. Shewas awfully angry with me for knowing about it, and she began to cry. Soyou won't say anything to her, will you?"

"No, of course I won't, " said Radmore hastily. 

They were now emerging on the wide sweep of down commanding the littleold country town which stands to the whole world as the racing capital ofEngland. To their left, huge and gaunt against the night sky, rose theGrand Stand. 

"Where does Trotman hang out?" asked Radmore. "Shan't we have a devil ofa difficulty in knocking him up?"

"I don't think we shall, " said his small companion, confidently. "You seethere must always be some sick animal for someone to sit up with. I'drather be nurse to a dog than to a woman, wouldn't you?"

They turned into the steep road leading into the town, flashing pastshuttered villas set in gardens, till they reached a labyrinth of quaint, narrow, walled thoroughfares dating from the 18th century. 

"We're very near now, " said Timmy. "Isn't it funny, Godfrey, to feel thateverybody's asleep but us?" They had come to a corner where high wallsenclosed what might once have been the kitchen garden of a Georgianmanor-house. 

"Here it is!" cried the boy. 

Radmore stopped the car and then he jumped out and struck a match. Overa door, set in the wall, stood out in clear lettering the words, "JohnTrotman, Veterinary Surgeon. " Feeling a little doubtful of what theirreception would be like, he pulled the bell. There was a pause, a longpause, and then they heard the sound of light, quick footsteps, and thedoor was unlocked. 

"Who's there? What is it?" came in a woman's voice, and a quaint figure, dressed in a short, dark dressing-gown, and looking not unlike Noah'swife, appeared holding a lantern in her hand. She had a kindly, shrewdface, and when Radmore said apologetically, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but the matter is really urgent, and we've brought a sick animal manymiles in order that it may benefit by Mr. Trotman's skill, " her facecleared, and she said cordially: "All right, sir, come right in. "

As they walked along through a curious kind of trellised tunnel, Timmycarrying Josephine and her kittens, there arose an extraordinary chorusof sounds in which furious barking predominated. 

"You have a regular menagerie here, " said Radmore, smiling. 

"Why, yes, sir, " she answered simply, "but they'll all quiet down after abit. They're startled like, hearing strange footsteps. "

She led them into the house, and so through into a pleasant littleparlour, full of the good 18th Century furniture which may still be foundin the older houses of an English country town. Sporting prints--some ofconsiderable value--hung on the walls. There was still a little firealight in the deep grate, throwing out a warmth that was comforting toboth the man and the boy. 

"If you'll wait here, I'll get my husband. "

While Mrs. Trotman had left the room, Radmore remarked: "I've made up mymind what to say to Trotman, so please don't interrupt. "

And Timmy listened silently to the explanation his godfather gave ofJosephine's strange behaviour of the night before. It was an explanationthat squared with the facts--at any rate, according to the speaker'spoint of view--for Radmore told the famous vet that the cat, upset by thesight of a strange dog, had flown at a lady and bitten her. He addedfrankly that the doctor had suggested that the animal should be keptunder observation, and then he managed to convey that money was noobject, as the cat was a cherished pet sent from France during the War. 

Everything was soon arranged, for Mr. Trotman was a man of few words. Radmore gave his own name and the address of Old Place, and then, justbefore leaving the house, he put down a £5 note on the table. 

The sturdy, grizzled old man took up the note and held it out to his newclient. "I'd rather not take this, sir, if you don't mind, " he said alittle gruffly. "We'll send you in a proper bill in due course. Youneedn't be afraid. The cat shall have every care, and of course, ifthings should go wrong--you know what I mean--I'll at once give you atelephone call. But, as far as I can tell, you're right, and it was justfear for her young made her behave so. " He turned to his wife. "Now then, mother, you just get back to bed! I'll see to these gentlemen, and topoor pussy. "

They shook hands with Mrs. Trotman, and then the famous vet took themdown the trellised path and stood in the doorway till they got into thecar. 

"I'm glad to have met you, Mr. Trotman, " Radmore called out heartily. "I'd like to come over here one day, and go over your place. "

As they raced up towards the Downs, Radmore suddenly turned to Timmy:"The more time goes on, the more it's borne in on me that there's nothinglike the old people of the old country. " And as the boy, surprised, saidnothing for once, he went on, "I hope that the stock won't ever giveout. "

"How d'you mean?"

"Well, take those two people, that man and woman. We get them out oftheir warm, comfortable bed in the middle of the night, they knowingnothing about us, except that we bring a cat which may be mad; and yetthey take it all in the day's work; they're civil, kindly, obliging--andthe man won't take money he hasn't earned! I call that splendid, Timmy. You might almost go the world over before you'd find a couple likethat--anywhere but in England. "

 * * * * *

They drove on and on, and then all at once, Radmore, glancing down to hisleft, saw that Timmy had fallen asleep. Now Timmy, asleep, looked like anangelic cherub, and so very different from his usual alert, inquisitive, little awake self. And there welled up in Radmore's heart the strangestfeeling of tenderness--not only for Timmy but for the whole of theTosswill family--not only for the Tosswill family, but for the whole ofthis sturdy, quiet, apparently unemotional world of England to which hehad come back. 

The human mind and brain work in mysterious ways. Radmore will neverknow, to the day of his death, the effect that this curious night drivehad on the whole of his future life. He was not a man to quote poetry, even to himself, but to-night there came into his mind some words he hadheard muttered by a corporal in Gallipoli:

 "What do they know of England Who only England know?"

When he had left his homeland, now nearly ten years ago, he had been in abitter mood. It had seemed to him that his own country was rejecting himwith scorn. But now his heart swelled proudly at the thought of the oldcountry--of all that she had endured since then. He had thought Englandaltered and very much for the worse, when he was in London on his twobrief "leaves" during the War, but now he knew how unchanged his countrywas--in the things that really matter. .. . 

When he had come back for good, this summer, he had looked forward to aneasy, selfish life--the sort of life certain men whom he had envied as aboy used to lead before the war. 

Radmore knew, as every man who has lived to the age of thirty-two mustknow, that marriage brings with it certain cares, responsibilities, andtroubles, and so he had deliberately made up his mind to avoid marriage, though he had been conscious the while that if he fell violently in love, then, perhaps, half knowing all the time that he was a fool, he mightfind himself pushed into marriage with some foolish girl, or what wasperchance more likely, with a pretty widow. 

To-night he realised with a sort of shame that there were moments--hewas glad that they were only moments--when he felt uneasily yet stronglyattracted to Enid Crofton, and that though he knew how selfish, howself-absorbed and, yes, how cruel she could be. For well he knew she hadbeen cruel to her elderly husband. He was sorry now that she had come toBeechfield. She had become an irritating, disturbing element in his life. 

Radmore had looked at every eligible property within a radius of twentymiles of Old Place, but though some of them did not fall far short of theideal he had in his mind, he hadn't felt as if he wanted any of them. They were too trim, too new--in a word, too suburban. Even the very oldhouses had been transformed by their owners much as The Trellis House hadbeen transformed, into something to suit modern taste. He told himselfthat he must begin looking again--looking in real dead earnest, goingfarther afield. 

Absorbed in his thoughts, he had driven on and on, almost mechanically, till suddenly they came to four cross-roads. He drew up under asign-post, jumped out and struck a match, and as he read the paintedwords he realised, with vexation, that he had gone a good bit out of hisway. There was nothing for it now but to go on till they struck thePortsmouth Road. It was the quietest hour of the twenty-four, and it wasvery unlikely they would meet with anyone who could put them right. 

And then, while going up a lane, which he knew to be at any rate in theright direction, he came to a park gate. Just within was a lodge, and inone of the windows of the lodge there shone a light. Again Radmorestopped the car and jumped out, Timmy still heavily asleep. 

He went up to the door of the lodge and rapped with his knuckles. Itopened and revealed a young woman, fully dressed. "What do you want?" sheexclaimed, in a frightened voice. 

"I've lost my way, " he said, "and seeing a light in your window, Iventured to knock. I've no idea where I am--I want to get to Beechfield. "

"Beechfield? Why, you're nigh forty miles from there, " she said, surprised. 

"Can you tell me how I can get on to the Portsmouth Road?"

"Aye, I think I could do that; but stop your engine, please--I've alittle girl in here as is very ill. "

He ran out and did what she asked. Then he came back, and as she took himinto her tiny living-room, he saw that there were tears rolling down hertired face. 

"Is your child very ill?" he asked. 

She nodded. "Doctor says if she can get through the next two days she maybe all right. "

"Is your husband with you?"

She shook her head. "I'm a widow, sir; my husband was killed in the War. I'm only caretaking here. When the house up there is sold, they'll turnme out. "

"I'm looking for a country house. Perhaps I'll come over and see it oneday. Is it an old house?"

"Well, " she said vaguely, "it isn't a new house, sir. It's a mighty fineplace, and they do say it's going dirt cheap. " And then she added slowly, "There's a map hanging in the kitchen. It was hanging up yonder in theservants' hall but I brought it down here, as so many people asks theway. "

It was an old-fashioned country road map, and Radmore, bending down, sawin a moment where he was, and the best way home; and then feeling in aqueer kind of mood, a mood in which a man may do a strange and unexpectedthing, he took out of his pocket the £5 he had offered to Mr. Trotman. 

"Look here, " he said, "I'd like you just to take this and get your littlegirl whatever you think necessary when she's on the mend. She'll want alot of care, eh?"

Twice the woman opened her mouth, and found she couldn't speak. 

He held out his hand, and she squeezed it with her thin, work-wornfingers. "I do hope God will bless you, sir!" she said. And he went backto the car, feeling oddly cheered. 

 * * * * *

It was past five when Radmore and Timmy crept like burglars through oneof the back doors of Old Place. He sent the boy straight up to bed, buthe himself felt hopelessly wide awake, so he went out of doors again, into Janet's delightful scented garden, and tramped up and down a bit toget warm. Suddenly he knew that he was hungry. Why shouldn't he go intothe scullery and brew himself a cup of tea?

As he went into the kitchen, he saw on the table a kettle, a spiritstove, a cup and saucer, tea caddy and teapot, even a thermos full of hotwater--everything ready to make an early cup of tea. He left the thermosalone, and filled up the kettle at the scullery sink. 

Radmore was still very much of an old campaigner. Still it was a longtime since he had made himself a cup of tea, and he became a littleimpatient for the cold water took a long time to boil. 

The kettle was just beginning to sing, when the door which led to theflight of stairs connecting the scullery with the upper floors of thehouse opened quietly, and Betty appeared--Betty, in a becoming bluedressing-gown, which intensified the peachy clearness of her skin, and the glint of pale gold in the shadowed fairness of her hair. Morningwas Betty's hour. As the day wore on, she was apt to become fagged andworried, especially since Nanna's accident. 

Just for a moment she looked very much taken aback, then she smiled, "I've come down to make a cup of tea for Nanna. "

"So I suppose, but _you_ must have a cup first. See, I'm making some foryou. "

"Are you?" She tried not to show the surprise she felt. 

"While you're having it, we'll make Nanna a cup of tea with the water inthe thermos there. But where's the milk?"

He saw her face from merry become sad. "I always save some milk forJosephine, " she said. "I'll go and get it now. But we mustn't use it all;I must save some for that poor cat. "

"You'll have to go a long way to give milk to Josephine, " he observed. 

She looked at him, startled, and going to the scullery door, glancedquickly at the corner where stood the now empty basket. 

"Where is she?" she exclaimed--and her whole face lightened. "Oh, Godfrey, have you managed to hide her away?"

He nodded. "Yes, ever so many miles away, where no one will find her. "

"What do you mean?" She could not conceal her astonishment--herastonishment and her intense relief. 

"Timmy and I spirited her away, " he went on, "to a cat's paradise whereshe's going to be kept under observation. "

"Won't Dr. O'Farrell be very angry?"

"I don't think he'll mind as much as he'll pretend to. The moment he wastold about her kittens he knew that the cat wasn't mad at all. "

"The person who will be angry, " exclaimed Betty, "is Mrs. Crofton! Ithought it horribly cruel of her to say what she did last night. "

"It was rather vindictive, " he said reflectively. "On the other hand, youmust remember that she'd had an awful shock. I don't wonder she feltangry with Josephine, eh?" He looked a little quizzically, a littledeprecatingly, over at Betty. 

"Still it seemed so--so unnecessary that she should _ask_ for the cat tobe killed. " Betty was now bustling about the kitchen with a heightenedcolour. 

Radmore poured out a cup of tea. "Now then, " he said, "do come and sitdown quietly, and take your tea, Betty. " Rather to his surprise, shemeekly obeyed. 

Presently she asked him, "But why have you got up so early?"

And then he told her the story of his and Timmy's night expedition, ending up with: "I intend going round to Dr. O'Farrell's house abouteight o'clock. It wouldn't be fair to let the old fellow come down hereto indulge his sporting instincts, eh?"

To that Betty made no answer, and as the water was now boiling she wentacross to the dresser and brought a clean cup and saucer. "Now then, Godfrey, this cup is for you. Nanna can wait a little longer for hers. "

He sat down opposite to her, and into both their minds there came thethought that if they had married and gone out to Australia they wouldhave often sat thus together in the early morning. 

And then, when Nanna's cup of tea was at last ready, together with somenice thin bread and butter cut, he asked, "Can't I carry the tray up foryou?"

She shook her head, smiling. 

"I suppose you'll be down again soon? Isn't there anything else I canhelp you with?"

But this time Betty shook her head even more decidedly than before. 

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "I've got to make Nanna comfortable for the day, and it's a long business, for she's dreadfully particular. As a matter offact, Rosamund and Dolly will be down before I am. They'll starteverything going for breakfast. They've been very good lately, you know!Perhaps you'd like to give _them_ a hand?"

He looked at her hard. There was just the flicker of a mischievous smileon her face. 

"I suppose I ought to help them, " he said without enthusiasm. "But I'llgo and have a bath now. You'll let me be your scullion when you'regetting lunch ready, eh, Betty?" He added hastily, "I think Timmy oughtto stay in bed all day to-day. You _will_ let me take the place of Timmy, won't you, Betty?"

"That will be very kind of you, " she replied demurely. And then, beforeshe could say a word of protest, he had taken the heavy tray out of herhands. "You'll find me much more useful than Timmy, " he said, with atouch of his old masterfulness. "Now you lead the way up, and I'll handyou over the tray at Nanna's door. "

CHAPTER XXI

Some three or four hours later, Miss Pendarth, attired in a queer kindof brown smock which fell in long folds about her tall, still elegantfigure, and with a gardening basket slung over her arm, stood by theglass door giving into her garden, when suddenly she heard a loud doubleknock on her stout, early Victorian knocker. 

She turned quickly into her morning room. Who could it be? She knew theknock and ring of each of her neighbours, and this was none of them. 

Her maid hurried out of the kitchen, and a moment later she heard a man'svoice exclaim: "Will you kindly give this note to Miss Pendarth? I willreturn for the answer in about an hour. "

Miss Pendarth knew the voice, and, stepping out of her morning room, shecalled out: "Come in just for a few minutes, Mr. Radmore. "

In the old days she had always called him "Godfrey, " but when Timmy hadbrought him to call within a day or two of his return to Beechfield, shehad used the formal mode of address. 

Radmore had to obey her, willy-nilly, and as he came down the halltowards her, she was struck by the keenness and intelligence of hisdark face. She told herself grudgingly that he had certainly improvedamazingly, at any rate in outward appearance, during the last ten years. 

"Do let us go into your garden, " he said courteously. "I hear that youare still Mrs. Tosswill's only rival!"

She softened, in spite of herself. The Godfrey Radmore of ten years agowould not have thought of saying such a civil, pleasant thing. 

They walked through the glass door, and proceeded in silence down thepath. The herbaceous borders were in fuller beauty than anything the OldPlace garden could now show, but Radmore paid no further compliment, andit was she who broke the silence. 

"You must see amazing changes at Old Place, " she said musingly. "The restof Beechfield has altered comparatively little, but Old Place is verydifferent, with George gone, and all those young people who were childrenwhen you went away, grown up. As for Timmy, he was little more than ababy ten years ago. "

"Timmy is my godson, " said Radmore quickly. Her allusion to George hadcut him. 

Miss Pendarth turned on him rather sharply. "Of course I know that! Iremember his christening as if it was yesterday. It must be twelve orthirteen years ago. I can see you and Betty standing by the font--" andthen she stopped abruptly, while Radmore blushed hotly under his tan. 

He said hastily: "Timmy's a dear little chap, but I confess I can't makehim out sometimes. "

Miss Pendarth turned and looked at him. She knew everything there was toknow about Timmy Tosswill. His mother had early confided in her, and shenever spoke of the child to other people. Like so many gossips, whenreally trusted with a secret, Miss Pendarth could keep a confidence--nonebetter. 

But she felt that Godfrey Radmore was entitled to know the little shecould tell him, so "Timmy is a very queer child, " she said slowly, "butI can't help thinking, Mr. Radmore--"

"Do call me Godfrey, " he exclaimed, and at once she went on:

"Well, Godfrey, I think a certain amount of his oddity is owing to thefact that he's never been to school or mixed with other boys. I'm toldhe's a good scholar, but he's a shocking speller! Where's the good ofknowing Latin and Greek if you can't spell such a simple word aschocolate--he spells it 'chockolit. ' Still, I'm bound to admit the childsees and foresees more than most human beings are allowed to see andforesee. "

And then, as Radmore remained silent, she went on: "Do you yourselfbelieve in all that sort of thing, Godfrey--I mean second sight, and soon?"

Radmore answered frankly: "Yes, I think I do. I didn't before the War--Inever gave any thought to any of these subjects. But during the Warthings happened to me and to some of my chums which made me believe, in a way I never had believed till then, in the reality of another stateof being--I mean a world quite near to this world, one full of spirits, good and evil, who exercise a certain influence on the living. "

They had come to a circular stone seat which was much older even thanthis old garden, and Miss Pendarth motioned her visitor to sit down. 

"It isn't a new thing with Timmy, " she said. "As a matter of fact, evenbefore you left Beechfield, Dr. O'Farrell regarded the child as being insome way abnormal. "

"D'you mean while he was still a baby?" asked Radmore. 

"Well, when he had just emerged from babyhood. But I doubt if anyone knewit but Timmy's parents, the doctor, myself, and yes, I mustn't forgetNanna. He was a very extraordinary little child. He spoke so very early, you know. "

"I do remember that. "

"Unfortunately, " went on Miss Pendarth, "it's difficult to know whenTimmy is telling the truth, or what he believes to be the truth, abouthis gift. I think that often--and I know that Betty agrees with me--theboy invents all kinds of fantastic tales in order to impress the peopleabout him. "

"As far as I can make out, " said Radmore slowly, "he's always told _me_the truth. "

"I'll tell you something curious that happened--let me see, about sevenyears ago. You remember an old man we used to call Gaffer John? He hadWood Cottage, and lived in a very comfortable sort of way. "

"Of course I remember Gaffer John! He was well over ninety when I leftBeechfield, and he had been valet years ago to one of Queen Victoria'scousins. "

"Yes, that's the man I mean. At last he was found dead in his chair. Hehad what was by way of being rather a grand funeral. Timmy, for somereason or other (I think he had a cold), wasn't allowed to attend thefuneral, and as he was set on seeing it, Janet said that he might comeand see it from one of my windows. Well, after the funeral was over, hestayed on with me for a few minutes, and suddenly he exclaimed: 'GafferJohn isn't dead at all, Miss Pendarth. ' I naturally answered, 'Of coursehe is, Timmy. Why, we've just seen him buried. ' And then he said: 'Don'tyou see him walking out there, along the road, quite plainly? He's behindan old gentleman dressed up for a fancy ball. ' Then, Godfrey, the childwent on to describe the kind of uniform which would have been wornseventy years ago by a staff officer. I couldn't help being impressed, inspite of myself, for I'd never given Timmy the slightest encouragement totalk in that sort of way, and it's the only time he's ever done it, withme. "

"What does his mother really think of this queer power of his?" askedRadmore. "I've never liked to talk to her about it. "

"It's difficult to say. In some ways Janet Tosswill's a very reservedwoman. But I'll tell you another curious thing about the child. "Instinctively she lowered her voice. 

"The day before poor George was killed, Timmy cried and cried and cried. It was impossible to comfort him--and he wouldn't give any reason for hisgrief. Both Janet and Betty were dreadfully upset. They thought he hadsome pain that he wouldn't tell them of, and they would have sent for Dr. O'Farrell, but they knew he was away, some miles off, at a very difficultcase. Betty actually came in and asked if _I_ would try to make him saywhat was the matter! But of course I could do nothing with him. I thinkyou know that he was passionately fond of George. "

"What does Dr. O'Farrell think of it all?"

"He's convinced that Timmy has got a kind of peculiar, rare, thought-reading gift. He won't hear of its being in any sensesupernatural. I haven't spoken to him about it lately, but the last timehe mentioned the child, he told me he was sure that what he called theboy's 'subconscious self' would in time sink into its proper place. "

"I wonder if it will?" exclaimed Radmore. "I don't see why it should. "

"No, nor do I, excepting that, as time goes on, Timmy has become muchmore like a normal boy than he used to be. I'm convinced that very oftenhe pretends to see things that he doesn't see. He loves frightening thevillage people, for instance, and some of them are really afraid of him. They think he can heal certain simple ailments, and they're absolutelycertain that he can what they call 'blight' them!"

"What a very convenient gift, " observed Radmore drily. "I've known a goodmany people in my time I should have liked to 'blight'!"

Even as he spoke, an unpleasant question was obtruding itself. Was itpossible that Timmy had a "scunner" against poor little Enid Crofton?

"D'you think the child has a jealous disposition?" he asked abruptly. 

Miss Pendarth looked round at him, rather surprised by the question. "He's never any occasion to be jealous, " she said shortly. "Betty andJanet both worship him, and so does his old nurse. I don't think he caresfor anyone else in the world excepting these three. Perhaps I ought tomake an exception in _your_ favour--from what I'm told he cherishes aromantic affection for _you_. "

Miss Pendarth went on: "Mind you--I think there's often a touch of maliceabout the boy! Timmy wouldn't be at all averse to doing mischief toanyone he didn't like, or whom he thought ill of. "

"There are a good many grown-up people of whom one can say that, "observed Radmore. 

And then, almost as if the other had seen into his mind, Miss Pendarth, with a touch of significance in her voice, observed musingly: "I fancyTimmy doesn't much like the pretty young widow who has taken The TrellisHouse. The first evening Mrs. Crofton came to see the Tosswills, she gotan awful fright. Timmy's dog, Flick, rushed into the room and begansnarling and growling at her. There was a most disagreeable scene, andfrom what one of the girls said the other day, it seems to haveprejudiced the boy against her. "

Radmore looked straight into Miss Pendarth's face. Then she hadn't yetheard about last night?

There was a slight pause. 

"Yes, " said Radmore at last. "I'm afraid that Timmy does dislike Mrs. Crofton. "

"Perhaps, " said Miss Pendarth slowly, "the boy has more reason to dislikeher than we know. " As Radmore said nothing, she went on: "Mrs. Crofton isbehaving in a very wrong, as well as in a very unladylike, way with JackTosswill. "

Radmore moved uneasily in his seat. It was time for him to escape. Thiswas the Miss Pendarth of long ago--noted for the spiteful, dangerousthings she sometimes said. 

He got up. "Jack certainly goes to see her very often, " he said, "but Idon't think that's her fault. Forgive me for saying so, Miss Pendarth, but you know what village gossip is?"

"I'm afraid that she's giving Jack a great deal of deliberateencouragement. Even her servants believe that he regards himself asengaged to her. "

"What absolute nonsense!" exclaimed Radmore vigorously. "Why, if it comesto that, Rosamund's quite as much at The Trellis House as Jack is, andeven _I_ go there very often!"

"Yes, I know you do; at one time you were first favourite, " said MissPendarth coolly. 

She had never been lacking in courage. 

"And yet I can assure you, " he exclaimed in a challenging tone, "that I, at any rate, am not at all in love with Mrs. Crofton. "

"Sit down, Godfrey. There's something I want to ask you. "

Unwillingly he obeyed. 

"I think you knew Colonel Crofton?"

"Yes, and I liked him very much. "

"I'm afraid from what I've heard that she wasn't a particularly good wifeto him. " Radmore was surprised at the feeling in her voice, but he askedhimself irritably how the devil had Miss Pendarth heard anything of theCroftons and their private affairs?

He got up again, feeling vexed with himself for having come in to RoseCottage. 

She also rose from the stone seat. 

"Stop just one moment, Godfrey. I didn't realize that you knew Mrs. Crofton as well as you seem to do. I do beg of you to convey to her thatshe ought to be more prudent. I'm quite serious as to the talk about JackTosswill. They seem to have gone on a walk together yesterday afternoon, and the girl at the post-office, who is often sent long distances withtelegrams and messages, saw them in the North Wood kissing one another. "

Godfrey uttered an exclamation of surprise and disgust. 

How extraordinary that a woman of Miss Pendarth's birth and breedingshould listen to, and believe, low village gossip!

"Really, " he said at last, "that's too bad! I can't understand, MissPendarth, how you can believe such a story--" He nearly added, "or allowit to be told you!"

"I wouldn't believe everybody, " she said in a low voice, "but I dobelieve Jane Nichol. She's a sensible, quiet, reserved girl. She seems tohave passed quite close to them, but they were so absorbed in themselvesthat they didn't see her. She told no one but her aunt, and her aunt toldme. I'm sorry to say I do believe the story, and I think you will agreethat what may be sport to your pretty friend might mean lifelongbitterness to such a boy as Jack Tosswill. " She added earnestly, "Can'tyou say just a word to her?"

"Well, no, I don't see how I can! Still I promise you to try to do it ifI get the chance. "

He felt sharply disturbed and annoyed, and yet he didn't believe a wordof that vulgar story! Of course it was foolish of Enid Crofton to go fora long walk alone with Jack Tosswill. That sort of thing was bound tomake talk. What would the village people think if they knew how often he, Radmore, and Mrs. Crofton had dined and lunched together during the threeweeks that he had been there? Thank Heaven, they didn't know, and neverwould. 

"Did you ever read the report of the inquest on Colonel Crofton?" askedMiss Pendarth meaningly. 

"I hadn't the chance. I was still in Australia, " he said shortly. 

"If you'll wait a moment I'll bring it to you, " was the, to him, astonishing reply. 

Miss Pendarth walked off with her quick, light footsteps towards thehouse, and Radmore, gazing after her, told himself that she was indeeda strange woman. In some ways he had liked her far better to-day than hehad ever liked her before, but the low, silly bit of gossip she had justtold him filled him with disgust. 

Very soon she was back, holding in her hand a newspaper. 

An inquest of the kind that was held on Colonel Crofton is a godsend toany local sheet, and Radmore saw at a glance that this county paper hadmade the most of it. 

"Will you read it here, if you're not in a hurry? I don't want it takenaway; so while you're reading it, I'll go and do some potting overthere. "

She disappeared into a glass-house built across a corner of her garden, and he settled down to read the long newspaper columns. 

Soon his feeling quickened into intense interest. The local Essexreporter had a turn for descriptive writing, and, as he read, GodfreyRadmore saw the scene described rise vividly before him. He seemed tovisualise the intensely crowded little court-house, the kindly coroner, the twelve good men and true, and the motley gathering of small town andcountry folk drawn together in the hope of hearing something startling. 

Yet the facts were simple enough. Colonel Crofton had died from either anaccidental, or a deliberate, over-dose of strychnine. And his death hadbeen a terrible one. 

The outstanding points of interrogation were: Had he consciously addedto a tonic which he was taking an ounce or more of the deadly drug? Or, as some people were inclined to believe, had the local chemist by somemistake or gross piece of carelessness, put a murderous amount ofstrychnine into a mixture which had been prescribed for his customerabout a fortnight before?

But for the fact that a bottle of nux vomica had been actually found onthe ledge of the dead man's dressing-room window, it would have gone hardwith the chemist. But there the bottle had been found, and in herevidence, evidently given very clearly and simply, Mrs. Crofton hadexplained that, during the war, while in Egypt, she had palpitations ofthe heart, and so many drops of diluted strychnine had been ordered her. 

When asked why there was so large a bottle full of the deadly stuff, shehad answered that it had come from the Army Stores, where they always didthings in a big and generous way. At that there had been laughter inCourt. 

Mrs. Crofton had further explained that, as a matter of fact, she hadbrought the bottle back to England without really knowing that she haddone so; and that she had never given it a thought till it had beenfound, as described, after her husband's death, by the doctor who hadbeen called in to attend Colonel Crofton in his agonizing seizure. 

One thing stated by Mrs. Crofton much surprised Radmore. She hadasserted, quite definitely, that her husband had suffered fromshell-shock. That Radmore believed to be quite untrue. 

With quickened, painful interest he read her account of how odd and howcranky Colonel Crofton had become when wholly absorbed in his hobby ofbreeding wire-haired terriers. How, when one of his dogs had failed towin a prize, he would go about muttering to himself, and visiting hisannoyance and disappointment on those about him. 

She had drawn a sad picture of the last long months of their joint lifetogether and Radmore began to feel very, very sorry for her. .. . What anawful ordeal the poor little woman had gone through!

The doctor's evidence made painful reading, but what had really clinchedthe matter was the evidence of one Piper, the Croftons' general odd manand trusted servant. He had been Colonel Crofton's batman during part ofthe war, and was evidently much attached to him. When Piper repeated thewords in which his master had once or twice threatened to take his ownlife, his evidence had obviously made a strong impression on both coronerand jury. 

Radmore remembered Piper with a faint feeling of dislike. It was Piperwho had prepared the puppy, Flick, for the cross-country journey toBeechfield, and Radmore had given the man a handsome tip for all thetrouble he had taken. 

Yes, he had not liked Piper; so much he remembered. He had thought theman self-assertive, over self-confident, while disagreeably cringing inmanner. 

He read through the coroner's charge, which was given fully, veryattentively. It was quite clear that the coroner was strongly biased, if one could put it that way, in Mrs. Crofton's favour. He had spokentouchingly of the difficult time the poor young lady had had with herhusband. Then he had recalled that the Colonel's own favourite terrier, Dandy, on which he had built great hopes, had only been commended, instead of winning, as he had hoped, the first prize at an importantshow, and that had thoroughly upset him. Indeed, according to Piper'sevidence, he had used the exaggerated phrase, "My life is no longer worthliving. " Finally the coroner had touched lightly, but severely, onevidence tendered by a spiteful ex-woman-servant of the Croftons who haddrawn a very unpleasant picture of the relations existing between thehusband and wife. 

Yet when the verdict of _felo de se_ had been returned, there had beenmurmurs in Court, at once sharply checked by the coroner. 

Radmore felt surprised. Surely everyone present should have rejoiced fromevery point of view. Had a different verdict been returned, it would haveput the unfortunate chemist in a very difficult position, and mighteasily have ruined his business. 

Though Radmore was grateful to Miss Pendarth for allowing him to read thereport, it had an effect very different from that she had intended, forit made him pity Mrs. Crofton intensely. Somehow he had never realisedwhat a terrible ordeal the poor little woman had been through. 

CHAPTER XXII

A week later Enid Crofton lay in her drawing-room on the one couch whichThe Trellis House contained. She looked very charming in her new guiseof invalid. 

Several people had already called to know how she was, including JackTosswill and his father, but no visitor had yet been admitted. Now it waspast four, and she was expecting the doctor--also, she hoped, in duecourse, Godfrey Radmore. That was why she had come downstairs, afterhaving had an early cup of tea in her bedroom, and lain herself on thesofa. 

The door opened, and as his burly form came through the door, Dr. O'Farrell told himself that he had seldom if ever attended such anattractive looking patient! She was still very pale, for the shock hadbeen great; but to-day, for the first time since her widowhood, she hadput on a pink silk jacket, and it supplied the touch of colour which wasneeded by her white cheeks. She had made up her mind that even a littlerouge would be injudicious, but she had just used her lip-stick. It waspleasant to know that she had every right to be an interesting invalidwith all an interesting invalid's privileges. 

And yet, well acquainted as she was with the turns and twists ofmasculine human nature, Mrs. Crofton would have been surprised toknow how suddenly repelled was the genial Irishman when she exclaimedeagerly:--"I do hope that horrible cat has been killed! Didn't I hearyou say that you meant to shoot her yourself?"

It was not without a touch of sly satisfaction that Dr. O'Farrellanswered:--"That was my intention certainly, Mrs. Crofton. But I wasfrustrated. The cat and her kittens vanished--just entirely away!"

"Vanished?" she exclaimed. "Then perhaps someone else has killed her?"

"Bless you, no. I'm afraid that the brute has still got her nine livesbefore her! She was spirited away by that broth of a boy. TimmyTosswill's a good hater and a good lover, and that's the truth of it! Iwasn't a bit surprised when I got the news that my services wouldn't bewanted--that the cat wasn't any longer at Old Place. "

"D'you mean you don't know what's happened to the horrible creature?" sheexclaimed vexedly. 

"That's just what I do mean, Mrs. Crofton. That smart little fellow justspirited the creature away. "

As he spoke, sitting with his back to the window, he was observing hispretty patient very closely. She had reddened angrily and was biting herlips. What a little vixen _she_ was, to be sure! And suddenly she sawwhat he was thinking. 

"I'd like to put a question to you, Mrs. Crofton. "

"Do!" she insisted, but his question, when it came, displeased her. 

"Is it true that that wasn't the first time you'd had an unpleasantexperience with an animal at Old Place?"

Dr. O'Farrell had not meant to ask his patient this question to-day, buthe really felt curious to know the truth concerning something GodfreyRadmore had told him that morning. 

"Yes, " she answered, slowly, "the first time I was in Old Place, TimmyTosswill's dog frightened me out of my wits. "

"That's very strange, " said the doctor, "Flick's such a mild-mannereddog. "

Enid Crofton lifted herself up from her reclining position. "Dr. O'Farrell! I wouldn't say so to anyone but you, but don't you thinkthere's something uncanny about Timmy Tosswill? My little maid told melast night that the village people think he's a kind of--well, I don'tknow what to call it!--a kind of boy-witch. She says they're awfullyafraid of him, that they think he can do a mischief to people he doesn'tlike. " As he said nothing for a moment, she added rather defiantly:--"Idaresay you think it is absurd that I should listen to village gossip, but the truth is, I've a kind of horror of the child. He terrifies me!"

Dr. O'Farrell looked round the room as if he feared eavesdroppers. Heeven got up and went to see if the door was really shut. "That's verycurious, " he said thoughtfully. "Very curious indeed. But no, I'm notthinking you absurd, Mrs. Crofton. The child's a very peculiar child. Have you ever heard of thought transference?"

She looked at him, astonished. "No, " she answered, rather bewildered, "Ihaven't an idea what you mean by that. "

"Well, you've heard of hypnotism?"

"Oh, yes, but I've never believed in it!"

To that remark he made no answer, and he went on, more as if speakingto himself than to her:--"We needn't consider what the village peoplesay. Timmy just tries to frighten them--like all boys he's fond of hispractical joke, and of course it's a temptation to him to work on theirfears. But the little lad certainly presents a curious naturalphenomenon, if I may so express myself. "

She looked at him puzzled. She had no idea what he meant. 

"If that child wasn't the child of sensible people, he'd have becomefamous--he'd be what silly people call a medium. "

"Would he?" she said. "Do you mean that he can turn tables and do thatsort of thing?"

The doctor shook his head. "What I mean is that in some way as yetunexplained by science, he can create simulacra of what people arethinking about, or of what may simply be hidden far away in the recessesof their memory. In a sort of way Timmy Tosswill can make things seem toappear which, as a matter of fact, are not there. But how he does it?Well, I can't tell you _that_. "

Enid Crofton stared at Dr. O'Farrell. It was as if he were speaking toher in a foreign language, and yet his words made her feel vaguelyapprehensive. Surely Timmy could not divine the hidden thoughts of thepeople about him? She grew hot with dismay at the idea. 

The doctor bent forward, and looked at her keenly: "I should like to askyou another question, Mrs. Crofton. Have you in your past life ever hadsome very painful association with a dog--I mean any very peculiarexperience with a terrier?"

The colour receded from her face. She was so surprised that she hardlyknew what to answer. 

"I don't think so. My first experience of a really disagreeable kind waswhen that boy's terrier flew at me. It's true that I've always had apeculiar dislike to dogs--at least for a long time, " she correctedherself hastily. She added after a moment's pause, "I expect you knowthat Colonel Crofton bred dogs?"

"Aye, and that very dog, Flick, was bred by your husband--isn't that so?"

"I believe he was. "

She was wondering anxiously why he asked her this question, and her mindall at once flew off to Piper and Mrs. Piper, and she felt sick withfear. 

"I ask you these questions, " said the doctor very deliberately, "because, according to Mrs. Tosswill, Timmy thinks, or says he thinks, that you arealways accompanied by--well, how can I put it?--by a phantom dog. "

"A phantom dog?"

She stared at him with her large dark eyes, and then, all at once, sheremembered Dandy, her husband's terrier, who, after his master's tragicdeath, had refused all food, and had howled so long and so dismally that, in a fit of temper, she had herself ordered him to be destroyed. 

She lay back on her pretty, frilled pillow, and covered her face with thehand belonging to the arm that was uninjured. 

"Oh, " she gasped out, "I see now. What a horrible idea!"

"Then you have no painful associations with any one particular terrierapart from Flick?" persisted Dr. O'Farrell. 

He really wanted to know. According to his theory, Timmy's subconsciousself could in some utterly inexplicable way build up an image of what wasin the minds of those about him. 

"Perhaps I have, " she confessed in a very low voice. "My husband had afavourite terrier called Dandy, Flick's father in fact. The poor brutegot into such a state after his master's death that he had to be sent toone of those lethal chambers in London. The whole thing was a greattrouble, and a great pain to me. "

Dr. O'Farrell felt a thrill of exultation run through him. To find histheory thus miraculously confirmed was very gratifying. 

"That's most interesting!" he exclaimed, "for Timmy, even the very firsttime he saw you walking down the avenue towards the front door of OldPlace, thought you were followed by a dog uncommonly like his terrier, Flick. His theory seemed to be that both Flick and the cat did not fly at_you_, but at your invisible companion. "

"My invisible companion?"

He saw the colour again receding from her face. "Don't for a momentbelieve _I_ think there is any phantom dog there, " he said soothingly. "All I believe--and what you have told me confirmed my theory--is thatTimmy Tosswill can not only see what's in your subconscious mind, butthat he can build up a kind of image of it and produce what is called, Ibelieve, in the East, collective hypnotism. I should never be surprised, for instance, if someone else thought they saw you with a dog--that isas long as that boy was present. It's a most interesting and curiouscase. "

"It's a very horrible case, " said Enid faintly. 

She felt as if she were moving in a terrible nightmare world, unsuspected, unrealised by her till then. 

"All abnormality is unpleasant, " said the doctor cheerfully, "I alwaysthought the boy would grow out of it, and, to a certain extent, he _has_grown out of it. You'll hardly believe me, Mrs. Crofton, when I tellyou that, as a little child, Timmy actually declared he could seefairies and gnomes, 'the little people' as we call them in my country!I think that's what first started this queer reputation of his amongthe village folk. I tell you he's anything but a welcome guest in thecottages--people with evil consciences, you know!" The doctor laughed. "They're afraid of Master Timmy, that's what the bad folks in Beechfieldare--they think he can 'blight' them, bring ill-luck on them. Well, well, I mustn't stop, gossiping here with you, though it's very pleasant. Bythe way, I'll ask you to keep all I've said to you to yourself--notbut what the boy's parents know quite well what I think about him!"

Then followed a few professional questions and answers, and then thedoctor went off, well satisfied with his visit. 

After Dr. O'Farrell had gone, Enid Crofton lay back and shut her eyes. Her nerves had by no means recovered from the horrible experience, and she felt a sort of utter distaste to Beechfield and to everybodythere--with the one exception of Godfrey Radmore. She promised herselffiercely that if Radmore did what she was always telling herself secretlyhe would surely end by doing, then she would make it her business to seethat they never, either of them, came back to this horrible place anymore. 

Apart from anything else, Jack Tosswill was already beginning to be moreof a complication than was pleasant to one in her weak, excited state. He had left a letter when he called that morning--an eager, ardentlove-letter, entirely assuming that they were engaged to be married. 

She took it out of the pretty fancy bag, which lay on her pale blue silkeiderdown, and read it through again with a mixture of amusement andirritation. It was a long letter, written on the cheap, grey Old Placenotepaper, very unlike another love-letter she had had to-day, writtenon nice, thick, highly-glazed letter-paper which had a small coronetembossed above the address. In that letter Captain Tremaine urgentlyasked to be allowed to come down for the next week-end. He pointed outthat his leave was drawing to a close, and that they had a lot of thingsto discuss. He, too, considered himself engaged to her, but somehow shedidn't mind that. She told herself pettishly that Providence has a way ofmanaging things very badly. If only Tremaine had Radmore's money, evenonly a portion of his money, how gladly she would leave England behindher, and start a new, free, delightful life in India! Tremaine knew thekind of grand, smart people she longed to know. He was staying with someof them now. 

Just as this thought was drifting through her mind, the door openedand she hurriedly stuffed Jack's letter beneath her silk quilt. Radmore walked in, and his face softened as he looked down on the pale, fragile-looking girl--for she did look very much like a girl--lying onthe sofa. 

"I've brought you a lot of messages from Old Place, " he began. "Theyreally are most awfully miserable about you!"

"I'm glad the cat hasn't been killed after all, " she said weakly. 

She had at last seen the look of recoil on Dr. O'Farrell's face, and shewas now trimming her sails accordingly. 

"That's very magnanimous of you. " Radmore smiled. He was surprised, and alittle touched, too. "May I sit down?"

He drew up a chair, and then he touched the hand belonging to thebandaged arm. "I do hope you are fairly free from pain?" he saidsolicitously. 

"It does hurt a good deal. "

There was a pause; his hand was still lying protectingly over her hand. 

She lay quite still--a vision of lovely Paris frocks, a Rolls-Roycerunning smoothly by a deep blue sea, a long rope of pearls, flashedbefore her inner consciousness. Then she was awakened from this dream ofbliss by Radmore's next words:--"My godson's going to write you a letterof apology, " he said. 

And then, to her chagrin, he took his hand away; it was as though Timmy'smalign influence had fallen between them. His very tone changed; it wasno longer tender, solicitous--only kindly. 

"Mr. Radmore, I want to tell you something. I'm horribly afraid ofTimmy!"

There was an accent of absolute sincerity in her low voice. She wenton:--"Dr. O'Farrell has been talking to me about him. He seems a moststrange, unnatural child. The village people believe that he hassupernatural powers. Do you believe that?"

"I don't quite know what I think about Timmy, " he answered hesitatingly. He felt acutely uncomfortable, also rather shocked that Dr. O'Farrell hadsaid anything about a child who might, after all, be regarded as hispatient. But Enid Crofton was looking at him very intently, and so hewent on:--

"I've never spoken to any of them about it, but, yes, if you ask me formy honest opinion, I do think the child has very peculiar powers. "

And then, all at once, Enid Crofton burst into tears. "Timmy terrifiesme, " she sobbed. "I wish he never came near me! He hates me--I feel itall the time. I'm sure he made that cat fly at me!"

Radmore remained silent--he didn't know what to say, what to admit. Hewondered uncomfortably how she had come so near the truth. 

"Come, come, " he said, bending forward, "you mustn't feel like that. Idon't think the child hates you, but I do think that he loves tryingexperiments with that queer power of his. I'm afraid he wanted to seewhether the cat would behave as the dog had done. "

"That's what I mean, " she exclaimed, dabbing her eyes, "that's exactlywhat I mean! I don't want to hurt his feelings, or to make a fuss, but Ishould be so grateful if you could manage to prevent his coming here. Idon't want to make you vain, " she smiled, very winningly, "but sometimesI do feel that 'two's company. ' Since I've been here I've hardly everseen you alone. I used to enjoy our talks in London! I feel, I know thatyou're the only friend I've got in Beechfield. "

"That's rather hard on Jack Tosswill, " and though he smiled, he looked ather significantly. 

Enid was so surprised that for a moment her composure gave way, and thecolour rushed into her pale face. Then she pulled herself together. "Itreally hasn't been my fault, " she said plaintively. 

"I'm sure it hasn't. But in a village one has to be careful. Wouldit surprise you to hear that as I came along this morning, one ofthe inhabitants of Beechfield spoke to me of you and Jack, andsuggested--forgive me for saying so--not only that the boy was very muchin love with you but that you--well--encouraged him!"

Enid Crofton sat up. "I've always heard that villages were far morewicked places than towns, and now I know it's true!"

"Steady on, " he said smiling, "forgive me for having repeated a silly bitof gossip. But, after all, what you said just now is quite true--I amyour oldest friend by a long way, and so I feel I ought to give you aword of warning. I do think the poor boy _is_ very fond of you, eh?"

Enid Crofton put out her hand and took his in hers. She squeezed itconvulsively. "I feel so miserable, " she sobbed, "so miserable andlonely!"

"Do you, dear--" And then they both started violently, and Radmore movedhis chair away with a quick movement, for the door behind them had swungopen, and Jack Tosswill, quite unaware of the other man's presence, camethrough it, and at once began speaking eagerly, excitedly, in a voice sounlike his usual "home" voice that Radmore hardly recognised it:--

"I'm so glad you're downstairs. I came this morning I hope you gotmy--" and then he saw the other man, and checked himself abruptly. 

He had given the beloved woman he regarded as his future wife, his mostsolemn word of honour that no one should suspect that they were more thanmere acquaintances. So, after a perceptible pause, he concluded, lamely, "my step-mother's message. "

"Yes, I did; thank you very much. "

He saw that she had been crying, and his heart welled up with tenderness, and with angry, impatient annoyance against Radmore's presence. 

Why didn't the stupid fellow go? Surely he must realise, surely theremust be something in the atmosphere, which must tell even the blindest ofonlookers, how things were between him, Jack Tosswill, and the invalid?

But Radmore was quite impervious to the atmosphere of emotion andstrain--or so it seemed. On and on he sat, Enid Crofton languidly makingconversation with them both in turn, until at last Rosamund came in, andboth men rose to leave together. 

And then something curious happened. Radmore, even while conscious thathe was a fool, felt a violent desire to see Enid Crofton again and verysoon, alone. He was trying to make up a form of words to convey this toher before the other two, when good fortune seemed to favour him, forbrother and sister began--as they were wont to do--wrangling together. 

Seeing his opportunity he bent down a little over Mrs. Crofton's couch inorder to suggest to her that he should come again to-morrow. And then, ina flash, the whole expression of his face altered and stiffened. Halfunder the lace coverlet over the eiderdown a letter written on familiarlooking pale grey notepaper was sticking out, and he couldn't helpseeing the words:--"My own darling angel. "

Straightening himself quickly and hardly knowing what he was saying, heexclaimed, "I do hope you'll soon feel all right again. "

And then he saw that she was aware of what had happened for she becameeven whiter than she had been before. Every bit of colour fled from herface--except for the unnaturally pink lips. 

CHAPTER XXIII

As he walked away from The Trellis House Radmore felt terribly disturbed, and maddened with himself for feeling so disturbed. 

After all, Enid Crofton meant very little to him! He even told himselfthat he had never really liked, still less respected, her and yet therehad been something that drove him on, that allured him, that made himfeel as he had felt to-night. But for the accident of his having seenthat letter from poor foolish Jack Tosswill he might, by this timeto-morrow, have been in the position of Enid Crofton's future husband!The knowledge turned him sick. 

Just now he felt that he never wished to see her again. 

As he walked on, leaving the village behind him, and emerging on thegreat common which stretched between Beechfield and the nearest railwaystation--he asked himself whether or no it was possible that she hadgenuinely fallen in love with Jack Tosswill?

And then he stayed his steps suddenly. He had remembered the look ofterror, the look of being "found out, " which had crossed her face, whenshe had realised that he had seen that fatally revealing corner of herlove-letter. 

Why had she looked like that? And then, all at once, he knew. It was forhim that Enid Crofton had come to Beechfield, for him, or rather for hismoney. He felt hideously disturbed as certain tiny past happeningscrowded on his memory. He felt he would give half his possessions were itpossible thereby to transplant The Trellis House hundreds of miles fromBeechfield. 

He threw a rueful thought to Jack Tosswill. Miss Pendarth had been right, after all. That sort of experience might well embitter the whole of theearly life of such a priggish, self-centred youth; and while he waschewing the cud of these painful, troubling thoughts there came a woman'svoice out of the darkness. 

"Does this lead on into Beechfield, sir? I want to find The TrellisHouse. I've been there once before, but it was broad daylight then. "

Radmore peered at the speaker: a thin, medium-sized woman she seemed tobe; obviously not one of the country folk--by her accent a Londoner. 

"Go straight on, and in about a quarter of an hour, you'll find TheTrellis House on your right. But you'd better enquire as soon as you getinto the village itself. Is it Mrs. Crofton's house that you want tofind?"

"Yes, that's the place I'm bound for, " said the woman. 

"Look here, " said Radmore good-naturedly. "I was only going for a walk. I'll take you along to The Trellis House. You might easily miss it. "

He turned, and they began walking along the road side by side. 

"I suppose Mrs. Crofton 'asn't gone away yet, I'm sure to find 'er there, sir?" There was a doubting, almost a resentful, tone in the mincingvoice. 

"I think she's at home. Isn't she expecting you?" Radmore had taken thewoman for a superior servant. 

"She's not expecting me exactly, but me and my 'usband have been 'opingfor a letter from Mrs. Crofton. As nothing's come, I thought I'd justcome down and see 'er. My 'usband asked 'er to get the address of agentleman who 'e thinks might 'elp 'im--Major Radmore. I don't supposeas what you've ever 'eard of 'im, sir?"

Radmore said quietly, "I know Major Radmore rather well. May I ask yourname?"

She hesitated, then answered:--"Mrs. Piper, sir. My 'usband was ColonelCrofton's dog-breeding assistant, and 'e's about to start for 'imself inthe same line, if 'e can get the money that's been promised 'im. If 'ecan't get that money--well, 'e'll have to go into service again, and 'ethought that Major Radmore, who's a kind, generous gentleman, might 'elp'im to a job. "

Radmore felt amused, interested, and, yes, a little touched. Evidentlyhis distaste for Piper had not been reciprocal. 

"I suppose to start dog-breeding requires a good bit of money, " he said. 

"Well, sir, it's this way. Fancy dogs fetch a good bit more money thanthey did. Such a lot o' breeding stopped during the War. But what withone thing and another, and prices 'aving gone up so, Piper says 'twouldbe no good going in for such a thing under a matter of £500. But we'vegot good hopes of getting the money, " said the woman composedly. 

"Have you indeed?"

Then he felt rather ashamed of the little game he was playing with thisno doubt excellent woman. 

"Look here, Mrs. Piper, " he exclaimed, "perhaps I ought to tell youfrankly that _my_ name is Radmore. I no longer call myself 'MajorRadmore. ' My address for the present is Old Place, Beechfield. ButBeechfield alone would find me, and I hope your husband will let meknow if I can do anything for him. "

"There now! Could one ever hope for such a thing coming to pass as mymeeting you, sir, accidental like?"

Mrs. Piper was genuinely moved and excited. She felt that Providence, inwhom she only believed when she was in trouble, had done her a good turn. For a moment or two she remained silent, thinking intently, wonderingwhether she dared take advantage of this extraordinary chance--a chancethat might never occur again. 

"I take it, sir, " she said at last, "that you are a friend of Mrs. Crofton's?"

"Of course I am well acquainted with the lady you name. " There came atone of reserve, instantly detected by the woman's quick ear and quickermind, into the speaker's voice. "And I had a great regard for yourhusband's late employer, Colonel Crofton, " he added. 

"Aye, 'e was a good gentleman and no mistake, " said Mrs. Piper feelingly. 

She was wondering how far she dare go. She knew the man walking by herside was very rich; Piper had called him a millionaire. 

"I 'ope you won't think me troublesome, sir, if I tells you 'ow mattersare between Mrs. Crofton and my 'usband?"

There came no immediate answer to her question. Still she decided to goon. 

"Piper was with the Colonel a long time, sir. And after the poorgentleman's death Mrs. Crofton promised Piper that she'd oblige 'im inthe matter of financing 'is new business. "

Radmore was very much surprised. He felt certain that Enid Crofton hadno money to spare, then he told himself that women are sometimes veryfoolish, especially if any matter of sentiment is in question. Butsomehow he would not have thought that particular woman would ever betempted to show herself impulsively generous. 

"You spoke just now, Mrs. Piper, as if there was some doubt about themoney?"

"Did I, sir? Well, one can never tell in this world. But I think Mrs. Crofton _will_ find the money. " She added, almost in a whisper, "It's to'er interest to do so, sir. "

"To her interest?" repeated Radmore. "What exactly do you mean?"

"I don't quite understand it myself, sir. " Mrs. Piper spoke with a touchof light indifference in her voice, "Piper don't tell me very much. I wasin Islington, conducting a little business I've got, when Colonel Croftoncame by 'is sad death. Mrs. Crofton spoke to Piper most feelingly, sir, about the service 'e'd done her by what 'e said at the inquest. I'vealways 'ad my belief, sir, that Piper might 'ave said something more anddifferent that would have been, maybe, awkward for Mrs. Crofton. " Shewaited a moment, realising that she had burnt her boats. "Do you take mymeaning, sir?"

"No, " said Radmore sternly, "I don't take your meaning at all, Mrs. Piper. I don't in the least understand what you meant to imply just now. "

A most disturbing suspicion had begun to assail him. Was this woman, withher low, mincing voice, and carefully chosen words, something of ablackmailer?

They walked on in silence for a few minutes, and on her side, Mrs. Piperbegan to doubt very much whether she had acted for the best in being sohonest--"honest" was the word she used to herself. But she told herselfthat now she had started, perhaps she had better go straight on with it. 

"It's my belief that Piper did ask Mrs. Crofton to speak to you, sir, about the matter, and I thought, maybe, that she 'ad done so. 'Ave I yourpermission to say, sir, that I met you in the road, and that the subjectcropped up as it were?"

"You can say anything you like, " said Radmore coldly. 

He could not ask this strange, sinister woman to remain silent, yet thethought that Enid Crofton was about to be told that he and this Mrs. Piper had discussed her affairs was very disagreeable to him. 

Radmore was tempted for a moment to do a quixotic act, to say to thewoman, "I will find this money for your husband; don't trouble Mrs. Crofton, " and but for what had happened not an hour ago he would almostcertainly have done so. But now he felt as if he never wanted to hearEnid Crofton's name mentioned again, and he would have given a good dealto obliterate her and her concerns entirely from his memory. 

They were now, much to his relief, close to The Trellis House: "I willring the bell for you, " he said courteously, and then, without waitingfor her thanks, he hurried off towards Old Place. 

 * * * * *

The next evening Jack Tosswill drew Radmore aside. "Look here, " he saidawkwardly, "I wonder if you'd kindly wait a bit after the others havegone to bed? I want to ask you something, Godfrey. "

"Of course I will, old chap. " Radmore looked hard into the young man'smoody, troubled face, and came to a certain conclusion. Doubtless EnidCrofton had given Jack his dismissal, and the foolish fellow was going topour it all out. He felt he was in for a disagreeable, not to saypainful, half hour. Few people of a kindly disposition even reach the ageRadmore had reached without having had more than one such talk with ayoung man crossed in love. 

As soon as they settled themselves down, each with his pipe, in frontof the drawing-room fire, Jack began, speaking obviously with a greateffort, and yet with a directness and honesty which the older manadmired:--

"Look here, Godfrey? It's no use beating about the bush. I want to knowif you can lend me £500, and I want to say at once that I don't know whenI shall be able to pay you back. Still, I shall be able to pay youinterest. I suppose one pays the bank rate? I don't know anything aboutthose things. Of course, you may ask why don't I go to my father, but--"

Radmore stopped him. "It's all right, old chap. I'll give you a chequethis evening before we go to bed. "

"I say--" Jack turned round. "You're a good fellow, Radmore; I wouldn'tdo it, only--only--"

"I know, " said Radmore coolly. "I quite realise it isn't for yourself. Isuppose it's to oblige a pal. You needn't tell me anything more about it. As a matter of fact I meant to ask you whether you'd take a present fromme of just that sum. I don't suppose you know how I feel about you all. George and I were just like brothers. He'd have given me anything. "

"No, no! I want this to be a business transaction, Godfrey. " He said thewords just a little fiercely. 

"So it shall be--if you want it that way. I'll go and get my cheque booknow. "

When he came back, the cheque made out in his hand, he said thoughtfully, "I hope your friend hasn't got into the sort of scrape which means thatone has to pay money of a--well, of a blackmailing sort? There's no endto _that_, you know. "

Jack Tosswill looked surprised. "Good Heavens, no! He's only being rushedover a bill--legal proceedings threatened--you know the sort of thing?"

"I've made out the cheque to self and endorsed it, " observed Radmore. 

"Thanks awfully. You _are_ a good sort. I am far more grateful than I cansay, far more than--than--if it was only for myself--"

He stopped abruptly, and there was an awkward pause. Then Jack, speakingrather breathlessly, asked an odd question:--

"You knew Crofton very well, didn't you, Godfrey? What kind of a chap washe?"

He brought out the question with an effort. But he did so want to know!For the first time in his self-confident, comfortable, young life JackTosswill was in love and full of painful, poignant, retrospectivejealousy. 

Radmore looked away, instinctively. "I liked Colonel Crofton, I alwaysgot on with him--but he was not popular. He was not at all happy when Iknew him, and unhappy people are rarely popular. "

He was wondering whether he had better say anything to Jack--whether thefavour he had just done him gave him the right to speak. 

"I suppose he was at least thirty years older than Mrs. Crofton?"

Radmore nodded, and then they neither spoke for a few moments. Each waswaiting for the other to say something, and at last Jack asked anotherquestion. 

"They didn't get on very well together, did they?"

"When I first knew them they seemed to be all right. But he was veryjealous of her, and he had cause to be, for most of the fellows out therewere in love with her, and well, not to put too fine a point on it, sheliked it!" He hesitated. "She was rather too fond of telling people thather husband wasn't quite kind to her. "

"I think that was very natural of her!" exclaimed Jack, and Radmore felta surge of pity for the young fellow. Still he forced himself to go on:"It's no use pretending. She was--and still is--a tremendous flirt. "

Jack made a restless movement. 

"I'm afraid you think me rather a cad for saying that, and I wouldn't sayit to anyone but you. She was bred in a bad school--brought up, so Iunderstood from a man who had known her as a girl, in Southsea, by awidowed mother as pretty as herself. Her first husband--"

"But--but surely Colonel Crofton was her first husband?"

"No, " again Radmore avoided looking at his companion, "she's been marriedtwice. Her first husband, a good-looking young chap in the 11th Hussars, died quite soon after the marriage, the two of them having 'blued' allthey had between them. I suppose she foolishly thought there was nothingleft for it but for her to marry Colonel Crofton. And the real troublewas that Colonel Crofton was poor. I fancy they'd have got on perfectlywell if he had had pots of money. "

"I--I don't agree to that, " Jack said hotly. 

"I'm afraid it's true. But we really oughtn't to discuss a woman, even aswe are doing now. The only excuse is that we're both so fond of her, "said Radmore lightly. 

But even as he spoke he felt heavy-hearted. Jack Tosswill had got it verybadly, far worse than he had suspected, and somehow he didn't believethat the medicine he had just administered had done the young man anygood. 

CHAPTER XXIV

Two days went by, and now Saturday had come round again. 

In a sense nothing had happened during those two days, and to some of theinmates of Old Place the week had seemed extremely long and dull. 

Mrs. Crofton had suddenly gone up to town for two nights, and both Jackand Rosamund, in their very different ways, felt depressed and lonely inconsequence. But she was coming back to-day, and Rosamund was going tomeet her at the station with the Old Place pony cart. 

At breakfast Rosamund suggested that perhaps Godfrey might like to motorher there instead, but to her vexation he didn't "rise" at all. He simplyobserved, rather shortly, that he was going on a rather long businessexpedition: and Rosamund retorted, pertly, "Business on a Saturday? Howstrange!" to receive the dry reply: "Yes, it does seem strange, doesn'tit?"

Half an hour later Betty and Timmy were busily engaged in washing up thebreakfast things when Godfrey Radmore strolled into the scullery. 

"I thought that I was always to be in on this act?" he exclaimed. And itwas true that he had fallen into the way of helping to wash up, turningwhat had always been a very boresome task into what Timmy to himselfcalled "great fun" for while Radmore washed and dried the plates anddishes, he told them funny things about some of his early experiences inAustralia. 

"We've done quite well without you. We're nearly through, " said Bettymerrily. Somehow she felt extraordinarily light-hearted to-day. 

Her visitor--for very well she knew he was her visitor rather thanTimmy's--came a little nearer, and shut the scullery door behind him. 

"Look here, " he said mysteriously, "I want just us three to take a secretexpedition to-day. I think I've found my house of dreams! If you'll thenboth run upstairs and put on your things, we could go there and be backin quite good time for tea. "

"For tea?" repeated Betty, startled. "But who would look after lunch?"

"There's plenty of delicious cold mutton in the house, " said Radmoredecidedly. He added with a certain touch of cunning: "I did ask yourmother, Timmy, if she'd come too, but she can't leave the house thismorning: she's expecting a very important telephone message--somethingto do with the garden. She'll see about lunch, for she's particularlyanxious, "--he turned to Betty, --"that _you_ should have a good blow thistime. We shall get a little lunch while we are out, and be home by four. "

"Let's take lunch with us, " broke in Timmy eagerly. "We can eat itanywhere. " He had always had a passion for picnics. 

Betty was the last human being to make any unnecessary fuss. Also, somehow, she felt as if to-day was not quite like other days. She couldnot have told why. "All right. I'll cut some sandwiches, and then I'll goand get ready, " she said. 

Janet was in the hall when Betty came down. 

"That's right, " she said heartily, "I'm glad you're going to have a realouting at last!"

She took the girl in her arms and kissed her, and Betty felt touched. Herstep-mother was not given to affectionate demonstration. And then, all atonce, Janet looked round and said in a low voice: "Betty, I'm dreadfullyworried about Jack. D'you think it's conceivably possible that there'sanything _serious_ between him and Mrs. Crofton?"

Betty hardly knew what to answer. For some days past she had felt quitesure that there was something between those two. Jack had been so odd, sounlike himself, and once he had said to her, "Betty, I do wish you'd makefriends with Mrs. Crofton. After all you're my sister . .. " and then theyhad been, perhaps fortunately, interrupted. But if there was anythingbetween Jack and the fascinating widow, Rosamund, who was so devoted toEnid Crofton, knew nothing of it. 

"I really can't say, " she answered at last, "I've hardly ever felt sodoubtful about anything in my life! Sometimes I think there is, andsometimes I think there isn't. "

"I'm afraid there's no doubt as to what _he_ feels. I happen to knowshe's just had a very good offer for The Trellis House--seven guineas aweek for six months. But she seems to have settled in here for good andall, doesn't she?"

"I wonder if she really has, " said Betty. And then she grew a littlepink. 

Deep in her heart she had felt quite convinced that Mrs. Crofton had cometo Beechfield for Godfrey Radmore, and for no other reason. Now shewondered if she had been unjust. 

"How I wish she'd stay away _now_, even for a few days longer!" exclaimedJanet. 

At that moment Timmy rushed into the hall, Radmore drove up in his motor, and in a couple of minutes the three were off--Janet looking after them, a touch of wistful longing and anxiety in her kind heart. 

She had hoped somehow, that Godfrey would persuade Betty to go alone withhim to-day, and she was wondering now whether she could have said a wordto Timmy. Her child was so unlike other little boys. If selfish, he wasvery understanding where the few people he cared for were concerned, andhis mother had never known him to give her away. 

But the harm, if harm there was, was done now, and for some things shewas not sorry to get rid of Timmy for some hours. There had arisenbetween the boy and his eldest half-brother a disagreeable state oftension. Timmy seemed to take pleasure in teasing Jack, and Jack wasnot in the humour to bear even the smallest practical joke just now. 

 * * * * *

On and on sped the party in the motor, Timmy sitting by his godfather infront, Betty, in lonely state, behind. 

They hadn't gone very far before the countryside began to have all thecharm of strangeness to Betty Tosswill, and she found herself enjoyingthe change of scene as only a person who has been cooped up in onefamiliar place for a considerable time can enjoy it. 

"Why, we must be on the borders of Sussex!" she called out, at a pointwhere Radmore, slowing down, was consulting a sign-post. He turned roundand nodded. 

They started again. And then something rather absurd happened. Betty'shat blew off! It was an ordinary, rather floppy hat, and she had tied iton, as she thought, securely with a veil under her chin. 

Both Timmy and Radmore jumped out to pick the hat up, and as they cameback towards the car, Timmy exclaimed: "It's a shame that Betty hasn'tgot a proper motor bonnet! Rosamund's got a lovely one. "

"Why hasn't Betty got one?"

"Because they're so expensive, " said Timmy simply. He went on, "When I'vegot lots of money, I shall give Betty heaps of beautiful clothes; butonly one very plain dress apiece to Rosamund and Dolly. "

"Betty! You ought to have a motor bonnet, " called out Radmore as he cameup to the car. 

Her fair hair, blowing in the wind, formed an aureole round her face. Shelooked very, very different to the staid Betty of Old Place. 

She answered merrily: "So I will when my ship comes home! I had onebefore the War, and I stupidly gave it away. "

"Surely we might get one somewhere to-day, " suggested Radmore. 

"Get one to-day--what an extraordinary idea? Motor bonnets don't grow onhedges--"

But when they were going through--was it Horsham?--Radmore, alone of thethree, espied a funny little shop. It was called "The Bandbox": itswoodwork was painted bright green, and in the window were three hats. 

"Now then, " he exclaimed, slowing down, "this, I take it, is where motorbonnets grow. At any rate we'll get down and see. "

"What a lark!" cried Timmy delightedly. "Please, _please_ Betty, don'tmake yourself disagreeable--don't be a 'govvey'!"

And Betty, not wishing to be a "govvey, " got out of the car. 

"But I've no money with me, " she began. 

"I wouldn't let you pay for what's going to be a present, " said Radmoreshortly. "You're the only inhabitant of Old Place to whom I haven't givena present since I've been home. "

Home? It gave Betty such pleasure to hear him call it that. 

They all three marched into the tiny shop where the owner of "TheBandbox, " described by Timmy to his mother, later, as a "ratherspidery-looking, real lady, " sat sewing. 

She received them with a mixture of condescension and pleasure at thethought of a new customer, which diverted Radmore, who was new to thephenomenon of the lady shopkeeper. But when it came to business, shetook a very great deal of trouble, bringing out what seemed, at the time, the whole of her considerable stock, for "The Bandbox" was cleverly linedwith deep, dust-proof cupboards. 

At last she produced a quaint-looking little blue and purple bonnet, withan exquisitely soft long motor veil of grey chiffon. 

"My sister is at Monte Carlo, " she observed, "and when she was passingthrough Paris she got me a dozen early autumn models. I have alreadycopied this model in other colours, but this is the original motorbonnet. May I advise that you try it on?"

It was in its way a delightful bit of colour, and Betty hardly knewherself when she looked in the glass and saw what a very prettyreflection was presented there. She was startled--but oh, how pleasantlystartled--to see how young she still could look. 

"Of course you must have that one, " said Radmore, in a matter of facttone, "and leave the horrid thing you wore coming here behind you. " Thenhe turned to Timmy:--"Now then, don't you think _you_ could choosesomething for your mother?"

The lady of the shop turned patronisingly towards the little boy. Shewent across to a corner cupboard and opened what appeared to be a rathersecret receptacle. Though she had not been in business long, she alreadyrealised what an advantage it is to deal, as regards feminine fripperies, with a man-customer. Also, Radmore, almost in spite of himself, lookedopulent. 

"I think I have the very thing!" she explained. "It's a little on thefantastic side, and so only suits a certain type of face. "

As she spoke she brought out a miniature brown poke bonnet which waswreathed with one uncurled ostrich feather of a peculiar powder bluetint. She put it deftly on Betty's head, then stepped back and gazeddelightedly into the smiling face and dancing eyes of her new client. 

"I have kept this back, " she began, "hoping I should come across abride-elect whom it might really suit, for it would make a perfect'going-away' hat! But it is so extraordinarily becoming to _this_ lady, that I feel I ought to let _her_ have it!"

She turned appealingly to Radmore, but Timmy intervened:--"That's not mymother!" he cried, going off into fits of laughter. "We want a hat for my_mother_. That's only my sister!"

The shop-lady looked vexed, and Radmore felt awkward. He realised that heand Betty had been taken for husband and wife, Timmy for their spoiltlittle boy. 

"I'm quite sure I could find something that would suit Janet, " exclaimedBetty, hastily taking off the delightful bit of headgear. 

She put on the motor bonnet again, and then she went over to where ablack garden hat, with just one rose on the brim, and with long bluevelvet strings, was lying on a table. 

"I think Timmy's mother would look very nice in this, " she said smiling. 

The black hat was slipped into a big paper-bag, and handed to Timmy. ThenRadmore exclaimed: "Now then, we've no time to lose! Help your sisterinto the car, Timmy, while I stop behind and pay the bill. "

The bill did not take a minute to make out, and Radmore was rathersurprised to find that the three hats--for he bought three--cost him notfar short of fifteen pounds between them, though the lady observedpleasantly, "Of course I can afford to sell my hats at a _much_ lessprice than London people charge. "

To Betty's eyes, Godfrey looked rather funny when he came out of the gaylittle painted door with a flower-covered bandbox slung over his rightarm. 

She had thought it just a little mean that the shop-woman should giveTimmy Janet's hat in a paper-bag. Though Betty would have been horrifiedindeed at the prices paid by Radmore, she yet suspected that "TheBandbox" lady asked quite enough for her pretty wares to be able to throwin a cardboard box, so "Is that for Janet's hat?" she called out. 

"This, " he said, looking up at her, "is that queer-looking brown thingwith the blue feather that suited you so well. Of course I meant you tohave it too. "

Betty felt at once disturbed, and yet, absurdly pleased. "I'm afraid itwas very expensive, " she began. And then suddenly Radmore told himselfthat after all the poke bonnet had been cheap indeed if the thought of itcould bring such a sparkle into Betty's eyes, and such a vivid whiledelicate colour to her cheeks. 

There came a day, as a matter of fact the day when Betty wore thatquaint-looking bonnet for the first time, when she did venture to askGodfrey what it had cost. He refused to tell her, simply saying thatwhatever he had paid he had had the best of the bargain as it had beenworth its weight in gold. Even so it is very unlikely that she will everknow what that queer little bonnet, which she intends to keep as long asshe lives, really meant to Godfrey Radmore--how it had suddenly made himfeel that here was the young Betty of nine years ago come back, never todisappear into the mists of time again. 

Something else happened in the High Street of that little Sussex town. Radmore decided that it was Timmy's turn to sit behind, and the boy gavein with a fairly good grace; though after they had left the houses behindthem and were again moving swiftly between brown hedges, he called outpatronisingly:--"The back of your head looks very nice now, Betty--quitedifferent to what it looked in that horrid old hat you left in the shop. "

At last the car slowed down in front of a gate, on one side of which wasa big board. On this board was painted a statement to the effect that thehistoric estate of Doryford House was to be let or sold, furnished orunfurnished, "Apply to the principal London agents. "

The finding of the place had not been quite easy, and Radmore drew abreath of relief as he helped Betty down. 

"When Timmy and I were last here, " he said hurriedly, "there was a childvery ill at the lodge. So I think I'd better go and just find how thingsare. "

He was hoping with all his heart that the news he would see on themother's face would be good news. Somehow he felt that it would be ofhappy augury for himself. 

As he rang the bell his heart was beating--a feeling of acute suspensehad suddenly come over him, of which he was secretly ashamed, for it wasalmost entirely a selfish distress. And then, when the door opened, hesaw that all was well, for the young woman's worn face was radiant. 

"Is that you, sir? Oh, I did hope that you would come again!" sheexclaimed, "The doctor says that my little girl's certain to get well. Iwas terrible anxious the day before yesterday, but now though she's weakand wan, you'd hardly know she'd been bad, sir. "

"I wonder if you could give me the keys of Doryford House?" beganRadmore. "I want to go over it, and we need not trouble you to come withus. "

"I'm supposed always to go up with visitors, " she said hesitatingly, "even if I leaves them there, " but she looked troubled at the thought ofleaving her child. Then, all at once, Radmore had a happy inspiration. 

"Would you feel easier if we left the little boy we've brought with us incharge? He's very intelligent. He might sit in your kitchen. "

She looked across to where Betty Tosswill and Timmy were standing. "Why, yes!" she exclaimed, relieved. "If the young gentleman don't mind, perhaps he would sit with Rosie. 'Tain't nothing infectious, you know, sir, and it would please her like to have a visitor. She's got a book inwhich there's a picture of a little sick girl and someone coming to seeher. She said to me yesterday, 'No one comes to see me, mother, 'ceptingdoctor. '"

Radmore went off to the other two. 

"The woman evidently feels that she ought to come up herself to thehouse. But she's nervous about leaving her little girl. I was wonderingwhether Timmy would mind staying and amusing the child? We might haveour picnic in the house itself, if it's in any way possible. "

"What sort of a little girl is she?" began Timmy, but his godfather cuthim short. 

"Never mind what sort of a little girl she is--she's longing for avisitor, and you will be the first one to see her since she's been ill. "

He turned to Betty. "Perhaps you'd like to go in and see what sort of aplace it is? Meanwhile I'll open the gate and get the car through. "

Betty and Timmy followed the woman through the kitchen of the lodge to abedroom, where lay a pale-faced little girl of six. On the patchworkcounterpane were a pair of scissors and a big sheet of paper. It wasevident that the child had been trying to amuse herself by cutting outpatterns. As the visitors came in, she sat up, and her little faceflushed with joy. Here was her dream come true! Here were somevisitors--a beautiful lady in a peculiarly lovely blue bonnet, and apleasant-looking young gentleman too!

Timmy, who was quite unshy, went up to her bedside. "Good-morning, " hesaid in a polite, old-fashioned way. "I'm sorry you're ill, and I hopeyou'll soon be quite well. I've come to look after you while your mothergoes up to the house with my godfather and my sister. If you like, I'llcut you some beautiful fairy figures out of that paper, and then we canpretend they're dancing. "

He looked round and espied a chair, which he brought up close to the bed. 

Rosie was far too excited and shy to speak. 

"What's your name?" he began. "Mine is Timothy Godfrey Radmore Tosswill. "

The little girl whispered "Rosamund. "

"I've got a sister called Rosamund; now, isn't that curious?" criedTimmy. 

He had already seized the scissors, and was engaged in cutting out somequaint, fantastic looking little figures. 

After the others had left the room, Rosamund's mother turned to Betty. "Inever saw such a nice, kind, young gentleman!" she exclaimed. "He fairtook my breath away--a regular little doctor he'd make. "

 * * * * *

Houses are like people--they have their day, their hour, even, one feelsinclined to add, their moods of sadness and of joy, of brightness and ofdulness. 

To-day the white Corinthian-looking building called Doryford House was atits best, in the soft lambent light of an autumn day. For a moment, whenthe long, pillared building first came into view, Radmore had felt athrill of unreasonable disappointment. He had hoped, somehow, for ared-brick manor-house--a kind of glorified Old Place. But a few minuteslater, when the mahogany front doors had been unlocked, and they passedinto a light, circular hall and so into a delightful-looking sunnydrawing-room filled with enchanting examples of 18th century furniture, he began to think that this was, after all, a very attractive house. 

"In what wonderful order everything seems to be!" he exclaimed. "Have thepeople to whom the place belongs only just left it?"

"It's this way, sir. The gentleman to whom it belongs has several otherhomes--he don't care for this place at all. But it's all kep' upproper--one of the gardeners sees to the furnace--and about all this herefurniture, anybody who takes the house unfurnished, or buys the place, will be able to keep what they likes at a valuation. Perhaps you and yourlady would like to go over the house by yourselves? People often do, Inotice. If you'll excuse me, I'll just nip away. I wants to go to thevillage for a few minutes--that is if your little boy will be so kind asto stay with my Rosie till I'm back. "

"I'm sure he will, " said Radmore heartily. He told himself that it wasvery natural that everyone should think that he and Betty were married. 

The front door shut behind the caretaker, and the two left behind begangoing through the ground floor of the great empty house. Their progressgave Betty an eerie feeling. She felt as if she was in a kind of dream;the more so that this was quite unlike any country house into which shehad ever been. 

They finally came to the last living-room of all, and both exclaimedtogether: "This is the room I like best of all!"

It was an octagon library, lined with mahogany bookcases filled withbound books which looked as though they hadn't been disturbed for fiftyyears. The wide, fan-shaped window looked out on a formal rose garden. 

And then, all at once, Radmore's quick eye detected a concealed door inthe wall, on which there were encrusted the sham book titles often to befound on the doors of an old country home library. Quickly he went acrossand, opening it, found it gave straight on to a corkscrew staircase. 

Filled with a queer sense of adventure, he motioned Betty to go up first, in front of him. 

The staircase led up to a tiny lobby, into which opened a most beautifulbedchamber, a replica as to shape and size of the library beneath. 

The furniture there interested Betty, for she had never seen anythinglike it, except once in a château near Arras. It was First Empire, and onthe pin-cushion, lying on the ornate dressing-table, someone had writtenin a fine Italian hand on an envelope, the words: "This room wasfurnished from Paris in 1810. The bed is a replica of a bed made for theEmpress Josephine. "

They went on through many of the rooms on the upper floor, full to-day ofstill, sunny late autumn charm. 

Radmore scarcely spoke at all during their curious progress through theempty house, and Betty still felt as if in a dream. She had asked herselfagain and again if he could really be thinking of buying this statelymansion. 

The mere possibility of such a thing meant that he must be thinking ofmarrying Mrs. Crofton, and also that he must be much richer than any ofthem knew. 

At last they came down a wide staircase which terminated in a corridorleading into the circular hall, and then it was Betty who broke what wasbecoming an oppressive silence:

"Shall we go on and see the kitchen and the servants' quarters, Godfrey?"

"No; they're sure to be all right. "

Again came what seemed to Betty a long, unnatural silence. 

"Do you really like the house?" he asked at last. 

"I like it very much, " she said frankly. "But wouldn't it cost atremendous lot of money, Godfrey? It would be a pity not to buy itexactly as it stands. It all seems so--so--"

"I know! As if the furniture had grown there, " he broke in. 

"So beautiful and so--so unusual, " Betty went on diffidently. 

"I'm afraid I'm a commonplace person, Betty. I like a room to bebeautiful, but I like comfort, and I think this is a very comfortablehouse. I feel, somehow, as if happy, good people had lived here. I likethat, too. "

He was standing by one of the round pillars which carried out the type ofarchitecture which had been the fashion at the time Doryford was built;and he was gazing at her with what seemed to her a rather odd expressionon his dark face. Was he going to tell her of his hopes or intention withregard to Mrs. Crofton?

Betty felt, for the first time that day, intensely shy. She walked away, towards the big half-moon window opposite the front door. A wide grassgallop, bordered with splendid old trees, stretched out as ifillimitable, and she began gazing down it with unseeing eyes. 

He came quickly across the hall, and stood by her. Then he said slowly, "I'm wondering, wondering, wondering if I shall ever be in this houseagain!"

"You must think it well over, " she began. 

But he cut her short. "It depends on _you_ whether Doryford becomes myhome or not. "

"On me?" she repeated, troubled. "Don't trust to my taste as much asthat, Godfrey. "

"But you do like it?" he asked insistently. 

"Of course I like it. If it comes to that, I don't know that I've everbeen in so beautiful and perfect a house. And then, well perhaps becausewe've everything so shabby at Old Place, I do like to see everything insuch apple-pie order!"

A little disappointed, he went on, "I fear it isn't your ideal house, Betty? Not your house of dreams?"

And then, all at once, she knew that she couldn't answer him, for tearshad welled up in her eyes, and choked her speech. 

Her house of dreams? Betty Tosswill's house of dreams had vanished, shethought, for ever, so very long ago. Betty's house of dreams had beenquite a small house--but such a cosy, happy place, full of the Godfreyof long ago, and of good, delicious dream children. .. . 

She turned her head away. 

"Well, " he exclaimed, "that's that! We won't think about this houseagain. We'll go and look at another place to-morrow. "

His matter-of-fact, rather cross, tone made her pull herself together. What a baby he was after all!

"Don't be absurd, Godfrey. I don't believe if we were to look Englandthrough, that I should see a house I thought more delightful than thishouse. I'm a little overawed by it, that's all! You see I've never dweltin marble halls--"

"Oh, one gets used to that!"

"Yes, I expect one does. "

"Whether I buy this place depends on you, " he said obstinately. 

"Well, then, if I'm to decide, I say buy it!" She turned and smiled athim a little tremulously, keeping her head well down--her face shadowedby the deep brim of her motor-bonnet. 

More and more was this like a scene out of a dream to Betty Tosswill. Ina way, it was, of course, natural that she and Godfrey should be alone, and that he should turn to her as his closest friend. And yet it seemedstrange and unnatural, too. But Betty had a very generous nature--and tothis man, who was looking at her with such an eager, searching look, shefelt in a peculiar relation. So she repeated, with greater ease andlightness, "Let's settle, here and now, that this is to be the futureresidence of Godfrey Radmore, Esquire! Timmy's a little bit like a cat, you know. He'll simply adore this house. He'll love all the pretty thingsin it. Perhaps you'd run him up in the motor presently, while I stay withthe little girl and that nice woman?"

And then all at once he took a step forward and roughly took her twohands in his: "Betty, " he said, "don't you understand? I shall neverenter this house again unless you're willing to come and share it withme. No place would be home to me without you in it. Why, Old Place isonly home now because you're there. "

She looked at him with a long, searching, measuring look; a look thatwas, unconsciously, full of questioning; but her hands remained in hisstrong grasp. 

"Don't you know that I've always been yours?" he asked--"that I shallalways be yours even if you won't have me--even if I end by marryinganother woman, as I daresay I shall do if you won't have me, for I'm alonely chap--" And then something in her face made him add: "Try to loveme again, Betty. I want you to say to yourself--'a poor thing but mineown. ' Do, my dear. "

And then Betty burst out crying, and found herself clasped in his arms, strained to his heart, while his lips sought and found her soft, tremulous mouth. 

He was gentle with her, gentle and strangely restrained. And yet as thehappy moments went by in that silent, sunny house, something deep in herstill troubled heart told her that Radmore really loved her--loved her asperhaps he had not loved her ten years ago, in his hot, selfish, impulsive youth. 

"We needn't tell anyone for a little while, need we?" she whispered atlast. 

She had shared her life, given her services to so many during the lastnine years, and she longed to keep this strange new joy a secret for awhile. 

"If you like, we need never tell them at all, " he answered. "We can justgo out, find a church, and be married!"

"Oh, no; that wouldn't be fair to Janet. " And yet the notion of doingthis fascinated her. 

CHAPTER XXV

And meanwhile what had been going on at Old Place? Outwardly very little, yet one long-expected, though when it happened, surprising, thing hadoccurred. Also Janet, as the day went on, felt more and more worriedabout Jack. 

He wandered in and out of the house like an unhappy, unquiet spirit, forthe sudden departure of Enid Crofton for London two days before had takenhim utterly by surprise, the more so that she had left no address, andhe was suspicious of--he knew not what! It was reasonable to suppose shehad gone to pay the debt for which he had provided the money; but thenwhy keep her address in town secret from him?

At last, this morning, there had come a postcard to Rosamund, asking tobe met at the station, alone, with the Old Place pony-cart. It was areasonable request, for the funny little vehicle only held two people anda minute quantity of luggage. Still Jack had felt annoyed she had notasked him to meet her. She seemed to him absurdly over-cautious. 

About ten minutes before the motoring party's return, Rosamund hurried inwith a casual message that Enid was very tired, and so had gone straightto bed; that she hoped some of them would come in and see her on themorrow, Sunday. In any case they would all meet at church. 

Jack was puzzled, hurt, and bitterly disappointed, and at once he wentoff to write a note which should be, while wildly loving, yet clear inits expressions of surprise that she had not sent him some sort ofmessage appointing a time for their next meeting. He found the letterunexpectedly difficult to write, and he had already torn up twobeginnings, when the door behind him burst open, and, turning roundirritably, he saw Timmy rush across to a window and shout exultantly, "Mum? We're back! And we've brought Josephine and her kittens. Mr. Trotman said she'd be all right now. "

Jack Tosswill jumped up from his chair. It was as if his pent-up feelingsof anger had found a vent at last: "You have, have you?" he cried in anenraged voice. "Then I'll see to the shooting of the brute this veryminute!"

Quick as thought, Timmy rushed back to the door and turned the key in thelock. Then he bounded again to the open window. "Mum!" he screamed at thetop of his voice. "Come here--I'm frightened!"

Janet Tosswill, walking quickly across the lawn, was horrified at thelook of angry despair on the child's face. 

"What's happened?" she asked, and then, suddenly, she saw Jack's blazingeyes. 

"J-Janet, " he began, stuttering in his rage, "either that cat is shotto-day, or I leave this house for ever. "

Even in the midst of poor Janet's agitation, she could not help smilingat the melodramatic tone in which the usually self-contained Jack utteredhis threat. Still--

"It was very, very wrong of you, Timmy, to bring back your cat to-day, "she said sternly. "Had I known there was any idea of such a thing Ishould have absolutely forbidden it. Josephine is not fit to come backhere yet; you know what Dr. O'Farrell said. "

The colour was coming back into Timmy's face. He had a touching belief inhis mother's power of saving him from the consequences of his own naughtyactions. 

"I'm very sorry, " he began whimperingly. "It was not my fault, Mum. EvenMr. Trotman said there was nothing the matter with her. "

And now Jack was beginning to repent of his hasty, cruel words. He was asangry as ever with Timmy, but he was ashamed of having spoken as he haddone to Janet--the woman who, as he knew deep in his heart, was not onlythe best of step-mothers, but the best of friends, to his sisters andhimself. 

"Of course I don't mind her being at Trotman's, but I do very much objectto her being here, " he said ungraciously. 

"I'll see about her being sent back to Epsom to-day, " said Janet quietly. She turned to her son: "Now then, Timmy, I'm afraid we shall have to askpoor Godfrey to start back at once after tea. "

"Oh, I say, " called out Jack awkwardly. "I don't want the cat to go assoon as that, Janet. To-morrow will do all right. All I ask is that thebrute shall be taken away before it has a chance of seeing Mrs. Croftonagain. "

"Very well; the cat shall go to-morrow. "

Drawing her little boy quickly after her, Janet left the drawing-room, crossed the corridor, walked into the empty schoolroom, and then, toTimmy's unutterable surprise, burst into bitter tears. 

Now Timmy had never seen his mother cry--and she herself was very muchtaken aback. She would have given a great deal to have been left alonejust then to have her cry out, but Timmy's scared little face touchedher. 

"I can't think why you did it, " she sobbed. "I always thought you weresuch an intelligent boy. Oh, Timmy, surely you understood how angry itwould make Jack and Rosamund if you brought Josephine back now, to-day?"

"I never thought of them, " he said woefully. "We were so happy, Mum--Godfrey, Betty and I. Oh, why are people so horrid?"

"Why are people so selfish?" she asked sadly. "I'm surprised at Betty; Ishould have thought that she, at least, would have understood that thecat must stay away a little longer. "

"It wasn't Betty's fault, " said Timmy hastily. He waited a moment, thenadded cunningly, "It was really Mr. Trotman's fault; he said Josephineought to come home. "

But his mother went on a little wildly: "It isn't an easy job, takingover another woman's children--and doing the very best you can for them!To-day, Timmy, you've made me feel as if I was sorry that I ever did it. "

"Sorry that you married Daddy?" asked Timmy in an awe-struck voice. 

Janet Tosswill nodded. 

"Sorry that I was ever born?" cried Timmy. He flung his skinny arms roundher bent neck. 

She looked up and smiled wanly. "No, Timmy, I shall never be able to saythat, however naughty you may be. "

But Timmy was not to be let off yet. 

"What happened to-day has hurt me very, very much, " she went on. "It willbe a long time before I shall feel on the old, happy terms with Jackagain. Without knowing it, Timmy, you've pierced your mother's heart. "

But even as she uttered these, to Timmy, dreadful words, Janet Tosswillgot up, and dried her eyes. "Now then, we must go and see about Josephinebeing shut up in some place of safety, where she and her kittens will notoffend the eyes of Jack and Rosamund. How about the old stable?"

She was her own calm, satirical, determined self again. But Timmy felt, perhaps for the first time in his life, deeply conscious of sin. Hismother's phrase made him feel very uneasy. Had he really pierced herheart--could a mother's heart be permanently injured by a wicked child?

It was a very mournful, dejected, anxious boy who walked into the kitchenbehind Janet Tosswill. 

Timmy had a very vivid imagination, and during the drive back he hadamused himself by visualising the scene when he would place Josephine andher kittens in their own delightful, roomy basket in the scullery. Itwould be such fun, too, introducing Flick to the two kittens! At Betty'ssuggestion, Flick had been shut out from the scullery after Josephine'skittens were born, and that though the dog and the cat got on extremelywell together. In fact, Flick was the only creature in the world withwhom Josephine, since she had reached an approximately mature age, evercondescended to play. 

And now poor Josephine and her kittens were to be banished to the oldstable, and to-morrow driven back ignominiously to Epsom, all because ofthat tiresome, hateful Mrs. Crofton!

There was no one in the kitchen, and it did not look as tidy as itgenerally looked; though the luncheon things had been washed up, they hadnot been put away. 

Mother and son walked on into the scullery to find Betty there, boilingsome water over a spirit lamp. "Betty? How very delightful you look!" herstep-mother exclaimed. "Just like an old picture, child! Wherever did youget that charming motor-bonnet?"

And then Timmy chipped in: "_I_ thought of it, " he said triumphantly; "itwas _my_ idea, Mum, but Godfrey paid for it. He said he hadn't givenBetty a proper present yet, so he _had_ to pay for it, and, and--"

Janet was just a little surprised. She was very old-fashioned in someways, and she had brought up her step-daughters to be, as regarded moneymatters at any rate, as old-fashioned as herself. It seemed to her verystrange that Betty had allowed Godfrey Radmore to give her such a presentas a hat! Yet another thing puzzled her. She had understood that thethree of them were going off some way into Sussex to look at a house, butthey had evidently been up to London. Motor bonnets don't grow on countryhedges. 

"Where's the cat?" she asked, looking round. 

"Godfrey has taken her up to the nursery, " said Betty, "partly to showher to Nanna, and partly because we thought it would be better for her tobe quiet up there than down here. "

"Oh, Mum--do say that she can stay up there, " cried Timmy pleadingly. "Ihate the thought of her being in that dark old stable!"

"Very well; put her in the night nursery. "

Even as she spoke, Janet was still gazing at her eldest step-daughter. Betty certainly looked extraordinarily charming this afternoon. It showedthat the child required more change than she had had for many a long day. They had got too much, all of them, into thinking of her as a stand-by. After all she was only eight and twenty! Janet, with a sigh, looked backto the days when she had been eight and twenty, a very happy, independentyoung lady indeed, not long before she had met and married her quiet, wool-gathering John, so losing her independence for ever. 

"I suppose you haven't heard the great news, " she exclaimed, forgettingthat Timmy was there. 

"What news?" asked Betty. 

She glanced at her step-mother. Surely Janet hadn't been crying? Janetnever cried. She had not cried since that terrible day when the news hadcome of George's death. 

"What news?" she asked again. 

"Mr. Barton--I really can't call him Lionel yet--came over this afternoonand--and--"

Timmy rushed forward in front of his mother, his little face all aglow:"Oh, Mum! You don't mean to say that he's popped?" he cried. 

"Timmy, don't be vulgar!" exclaimed Janet severely. 

Betty began to laugh a little wildly. "How very, very strange that itshould have happened to-day--"

"I don't think it's strange at all, " said Janet quietly. "The strangething is that it hasn't happened before! But there it is--they're engagednow. He seems to have told her that he thought it wrong to make his offeruntil he had saved £100. She has gone over to Oakford, and they are busymaking an inventory of the things they will have to buy. "

"Has he actually saved £100?" asked Betty. 

"No, he never could have done that. He's had a legacy left him, and heseems to think that £100 will start them most splendidly and comfortablyon their married life. He _is_ a fool!"

The door which gave on to the stairs which led from the scullery to theupper floor opened, and Godfrey Radmore stepped down. "Am I the fool?" heasked pleasantly. 

Janet answered, smiling: "No, no; you're anything but that. I was onlytelling Betty that Dolly and Mr. Barton are engaged at last. " She turnedto Betty. "Of course, he's coming to supper to-night. I've been wonderingwhat we can do in the way of something extra to celebrate the occasion. We _were_ going to have cold mutton. "

"At any rate I'll go and see what the village pub. Can produce in the wayof champagne, " exclaimed Godfrey. He turned to his godson. "Timmy? Run upand look at Josephine and her kittens. I've put them in the old nightnursery for a bit. "

And then, when the boy had gone, he went up to Janet and, to hersurprise, put his arm through hers: "I'm glad about Dolly, " he saidheartily. 

"It proves how very little one really knows of human nature. " She sighed, but it was a happy sigh. "I was beginning to believe that he would neverwhat Timmy calls 'pop, ' and yet the poor fellow was only waiting to be alittle forward in the world. Someone's left him £100, so he felt he couldembark on the great adventure. Your father and I have already talked itover a little"--she turned to Betty--"and we think we could squeeze out£100 a year somehow. "

"I think we could, " said Betty, hesitatingly. "After all, £1 is now onlywhat 8/- was before the War. "

"But not to us, " cried Janet; "not to us!"

And then, to the utter discomfiture of both her companions, she began tolaugh and cry together. 

Godfrey rushed over to the sink. He took up a cup, filled it with water, rushed back to where Janet was standing, shaking, trembling all over, making heroic efforts to suppress her mingled tears and laughter, anddashed the water into her face. 

"Thank you, " she gasped; "thank you, Godfrey! I'm all right now. I may aswell tell you both the truth. There's been a row--an awful row--betweenJack and Timmy, and it thoroughly upset me. It was only over thecat--over Josephine--but of course it proved that what Betty and I weretalking about this morning is true. Jack's madly in love with Mrs. Crofton--and--and--it's all so pitiful and absurd--"

"I doubt if you're quite fair to Mrs. Crofton, Janet, " said Godfrey, in asingular tone. "I fancy she really does care for Jack. Of course it seemsodd to all of us, but still, after all, odder things have been known! Ifyou ask me whether they will marry in the end--that's quite anothermatter. If you ask me whether they're engaged, well, yes, I'm inclined tothink they are!"

Even Betty felt violently disturbed and astonished. 

"Oh, Godfrey!" she exclaimed. "D'you really think that?"

"I can't tell you what makes me think so, or rather I'd rather not tellyou. But I don't think you need worry, if you'll only take a long view. They can't marry yet, and long before they could marry, she'll have gottired of him, and fond of someone else. "

Betty gave him a quick look. Was he really unconscious of the reason whyMrs. Crofton had come to Beechfield?

Through her mind in a flash there crowded the many small, almostimperceptible, impressions made on her mind by the new tenant of TheTrellis House. Enid Crofton in love with Jack? Betty shook her head. Theidea was absurd. And yet Godfrey had spoken very decidedly just now. Butmen, even very shrewd, intelligent men, are at a hopeless disadvantagewhen dealing with the type of woman to which Enid Crofton belonged. 

As for Janet she exclaimed, with sudden passion, "I would give anythingin this world to see Mrs. Crofton leave Beechfield for ever--" Shestopped abruptly, for at that moment the staircase door to her rightburst open, and Timmy stepped down into the scullery. 

CHAPTER XXVI

Since she had had the horrid accident which had laid her up, Timmy hadnot gone to see his old Nanna nearly as often as he ought to have done. Nanna herself, however, with the natural cunning of those who love, hadmade certain rules which ensured her a regular, daily glimpse of thestrange little being she had had under her charge, as she would haveexpressed it, "from the month. " Nanna did not desire his attendancebefore breakfast for she would not have considered herself fit to beseen by him till she herself was neat and tidy. Like all the women ofher class and generation, the Tosswills' old family nurse was full ofself-respect, and also imbued with a stern sense of duty. Timmy stoodfar more in awe of her than he did of his mother. 

One of the stated times for Timmy's visits to the old night nurserywas just before he had to start for church each Sunday, and on thisparticular Sunday, the day after that on which had occurred Dolly'sengagement, and Mrs. Crofton's return from London, he came in a fewmoments before he was expected, and began wandering about the room, doingnothing in particular. At once Nanna divined that he had something on hismind about which he was longing, yet half afraid, to speak to her. Shesaid nothing, however, and at last it came out. 

"I want you to lend me your Bible, " he said, wriggling himself about. "Iwant to take it to church with me. "

This was the last thing Nanna had expected the boy to ask, for, ofcourse, Timmy had a Bible of his own, a beautiful thin-paper Bible, whichshe herself had given him on his seventh birthday, having first asked hismother's leave if she might do so. The Bible was in perfect condition. Itstood on a little mat on his chest of drawers, and not long before heraccident Nanna had gone into his bedroom, opened the sacred Book, andgazed with pleasure on the inscription, written in her own large, unformed handwriting, on the first page:

 Timothy Godfrey Radmore Tosswill on his seventh birthday from his loving nurse, Emily Pew. 

All this being so, his mother, or even his sister, Betty, would at oncehave enquired, "Why don't you take your own Bible to church?" But somehowNanna thought it best not to put this question, for a lie, shocking onany day, is more shocking than usual, or so she thought, if uttered on aSunday. So, after a moment's hesitation, she replied: "Certainly, MasterTimmy, if such is your wish. But I trust you will be very careful withit, my dear. "

"I will be very, very careful!" he exclaimed. "And I will bring itstraight back to you up here after church. "

He threw her a grateful look. He did more, and Nanna felt amply rewardedas he climbed up on her bed and, putting his arms round her neck, kissedher on each cheek. 

"I hope, " she said impressively, "that you are going to be a good boy inchurch--a boy that Nurse can be proud of. "

Nanna never called herself "Nanna" to the children. 

"I am always very good in church, " cried Timmy, offended. "I don'tsee why you should go and spoil everything by saying that!" Withthese cryptic words he slid off the bed, taking with him the largeold-fashioned Bible which always lay by Nanna's bedside. 

Dolly, and Rosamund, who was Dolly's stable-companion, were attending theservice held by Dolly's fiancé, Lionel Barton, in the next parish. As forBetty, her heart was very full, and as she did her morning's work andwhile she dressed herself for church, she still felt as if she was livingthrough a wonderful dream. 

Jack, who did not always go to church, had elected to go to-day; so hadTom and Godfrey; and thus, in spite of the absence of the two youngergirls, quite a considerable party filed into the Tosswill pew. 

All the people belonging to Old Place were far too much absorbed in theirown thoughts on this rather strange Sunday morning to give any thought toTimmy. So it was that he managed, after a moment's thought, to placehimself between his father and his godfather. He judged, rightly, thatneither of them would be likely to pay much attention to him or to hisdoings. 

When the rather nervous young rector had got well away with his sermon, and had begun to attract the serious attention of Mr. Tosswill and ofGodfrey Radmore, Timmy very quietly drew out of his little, worn tweedcoat a long sharp pin. Wedging the Bible, as he hoped reverently, butundoubtedly very securely between his knees, he thrust the pin firmly inthe middle of the faded, gilt-edged leaves of Nanna's Bible, where therewere already many curious little brown dots caused by similar punctures, the work of Nanna herself. 

Having done this, Timmy carefully lifted the Bible from between his kneesand let it fall open at the page the pin had found. The text where thepoint rested ran as follows:

 Deliver my soul from the sword; my darling from the power of the dog. 

His father's eyes flickered for a moment and fixed themselves on Timmywith a worried, disturbed expression. As a child he himself would havebeen sternly reproved for reading, even the Bible, during a sermon, buthe supposed that Janet knew better than his own mother had done. Timmycertainly loved Janet far, far more than he, John Tosswill, had loved hisown good mother. So he averted his eyes from his little son, and tried toforget all about him. 

But John Tosswill did not know his Janet. Though three off fromTimmy, she had become aware that her son was bending over a very big, shabby-looking book, instead of sitting upright, listening sedately. Shegave him one glance, and Timmy, with a rather confused and guilty look, hurriedly shut Nanna's Bible, and turned his mind to the sermon. He hadseen what he wanted to see; and further, he had made a mental note of thepage and place. 

At last the service was over, and the congregation streamed out ofchurch. Timmy hung back a little, behind his mother. He did not wishher to see that he had Nanna's Bible instead of his own, but she wasfar too full of her own exciting and anxious thoughts to give anyattention to her little boy. Rather to her surprise, she found her minddwelling persistently on Enid Crofton. It was at once a relief and adisappointment not to see the young widow's graceful figure, and herheart ached when she saw the cloud come down over Jack's face. 

All at once she felt a detaining gesture on her arm, and turning, shefound Miss Pendarth at her elbow. They generally had a little talk afterchurch, for it was often the only time in the week when these two, bothin their several ways busy women, felt that they had a few minutes tospare for gossip. 

"I wonder if you could come in to Rose Cottage for a minute? I want toshow you something which I think will interest you as much as it has me. "

Neither of them noticed that Timmy had crept up quite close and waslistening eagerly. In a village community the gossip holds a place apart, and Olivia Pendarth, though by no means popular with the young people ofOld Place, nevertheless had her value as the source of many thrillingtales. 

Janet Tosswill hesitated. "I wish I could come back with you, " she saidat last, regretfully. "But I promised to go straight home this morning. "

She debated within herself whether she should say anything here and nowabout Dolly's engagement; then she made up her mind not to do so yet. 

Miss Pendarth, slightly lowering her voice, went on: "Perhaps I mightcome in this afternoon, and bring what I want to show you with me? It's afull report of the inquest held on Colonel Crofton. "

Janet looked up quickly. "I confess I should very much like to readthat, " she exclaimed, and then she added, "but I shan't be in thisafternoon. I've promised to go over to Oakford. "

That much information she would vouchsafe her old friend. 

A slightly satirical look came over Miss Pendarth's face. She toldherself how foolish it was of Janet to suppose for a single moment thatthat good-looking young clergyman was ever likely to make an offer totiresome, stupid, untidy Dolly Tosswill!

"I wonder if you would lend me the paper?" Janet suggested hesitatingly. "Timmy could go for it now, and I would send it you back the moment I hadread it. "

"Very well, " said the other, not very graciously. "I suppose Timmy can betrusted to be careful of it? I went to great trouble to get a copy, and Idon't think I should be able to get another. " She added slowly: "I got itat the request of Colonel Crofton's sister, but I have not yet sent it toher because I thought it would distress her too much. "

 * * * * *

A few minutes later Timmy was gazing round the hall of Rose Cottage witheager, inquisitive eyes. Miss Pendarth did not care for children, andthough Timmy frequently came to her door with a note, he was very seldominvited inside the house. 

Even now his hostess said rather sharply: "Run out into the garden, Timmy, while I go upstairs and find an envelope big enough in which toput the paper for your mother. I daresay I shall be away five minutes, for I want you to take her a note with it. "

The boy went through the glass door into the garden. He walked briskly upthe path, kicking a pebble as he went, and then he sat down on the benchwhere, not so very long ago, Olivia Pendarth and Godfrey Radmore had satdiscussing the curious and tragic occurrence which still filled MissPendarth's mind. 

Timmy asked himself what exactly was the meaning of the word inquest? Whyhad a paper printed what Miss Pendarth called a full account of theinquest on Colonel Crofton's death? Was it "inquest" or "henquest"?His agile mind swung back to the mysterious words he had heard Mrs. Crofton's ex-man-servant utter in the stable-yard of The Trellis House. 

At last Miss Pendarth opened the door giving into the garden, and Timmy, jumping up, hurried down the path toward the house. He then saw that sheheld a neat-looking brown paper roll in her hand, and over the roll wasslipped an india-rubber band. 

"I thought it a pity to waste a big envelope, " she observed, "so I havedone up the newspaper and my note to your mother into a roll. Will youplease ask your mother to put it back exactly as it is now--with theindia-rubber band round it? These bands have become so very expensive. She need not send it back. I will call for it to-morrow morning abouttwelve. Mind you give it to her at once, Timmy. I don't want to have athing like that left lying about. "

Timmy slipped into Old Place by a back way often used by the youngpeople, for it was opposite a garden door set in the high brick wallwhich gave on to one of the by-ways of the village. 

But instead of seeking out his mother, as he ought at once to have done, he went upstairs and so into what had been the day nursery. There helocked the door, and having first put Nanna's Bible on the big, roundtable, at which as a baby boy he had always sat in his high chair, hewent over to the corner where Josephine was peacefully reposing with herkittens, and sat down on the floor by the cat's basket. 

Very carefully he then slipped the india-rubber band off the roll ofbrown paper which had been confided to him by Miss Pendarth. He spreadout the sheet of newspaper, putting aside the brown paper in which it hadbeen rolled, as also Miss Pendarth's open letter to his mother. And then, with one hand resting on his cat's soft, furry neck, he read through thelong account of the inquest held on Colonel Crofton's death. As he workedlaboriously down the long columns, Timmy's freckled forehead becamewrinkled, for, try as he might, he could not make out what it was allabout. The only part he thoroughly understood was the description ofColonel Crofton's last hours; the agony the dying man had endured, theefforts made by the doctor, not only to save his life, but to force himto say how the virulent poison had got into his system--all becamevividly present to the boy. 

Timmy felt vexed when he realised, as he could not help doing, that Mrs. Crofton had looked very pretty when she was giving evidence at theinquest; in fact, the descriptive reporter had called her "the dead man'sbeautiful young widow. "

And then, all at once, he bethought himself of Miss Pendarth's letter tohis mother. 

Now Timmy was well aware that it is not an honourable thing to readother people's letters; on the other hand, his mother always left MissPendarth's notes lying about on her writing table, and more than once shehad exclaimed: "Betty? Do read that note, and tell me what's in it!"

And so, after a short conflict between principle and curiosity, in whichcuriosity won, he began to read the letter. As he did so, he realisedthat it formed a key to the newspaper report he had just read, for MissPendarth's letter ran:

 My dear Janet, I am longing to talk over the enclosed with you. I was lately in Essex, and when we meet I will tell you all that was said and suspected there at the time of Colonel Crofton's death. 

 _Someone we wot of got off very lightly. _ You will realise from even this rather confused report that _someone_ must have put the bottle of strychnine into the unhappy man's bedroom--also that he absolutely denied having touched it. No one connected with the household, save of course Mrs. Crofton, had ever seen the bottle until after his death. 

 It is a strange and sinister story, but I remember my father used to say that Dr. Pomfrett (who for fifty years was the great medical man of _our_ part of the world) had told him that not one murder in ten committed by people of the educated class was ever discovered. 

 I think you know that Mrs. C. Has had a very handsome offer for The Trellis House from that foolish Mrs. Wallis, but I believe that up to yesterday she had not vouchsafed any answer. 

 Your affectionate, Olivia Pendarth. 

 P. S. --Please burn this note as soon as read. I don't want to be had up for libel. 

Timmy read the letter twice through. Then he very carefully folded up thenewspaper in its original creases, put Miss Pendarth's letter inside, andmade as tidy a roll as he could with the help of the brown paper. Finallyhe slipped on the india-rubber band, and scrambling up from the floor, unlocked the door. Taking Nanna's Bible off the round table, he went intohis own bedroom and there laboriously copied out, with the help of a veryblunt pencil, the text where the pin had rested in church. Then he tookthe Bible into Nanna's room. 

"What's that you're holding?" she asked suspiciously. 

"It's something I have to give to Mum. "

Somehow the sight of Nanna, sitting up there in her big armchair, madehim feel extremely guilty, and he was relieved when she said mildly: "Yourun along and give it to her, then. "

He found his mother in his father's study, and they both stopped abruptlywhen he came in. Timmy supposed, rightly, that they had been speaking ofDolly and her engagement. 

Janet took the roll of paper from her boy and slipped off the bandabsently: "What's this?" she exclaimed. And then, "How stupid of me! Iremember now. " She turned to her husband. "It's an account of the inquestheld on Colonel Crofton. What a tremendous long thing! I shall have toput it aside till after lunch. "

She did, however, read through Miss Pendarth's letter. 

"Oh! John, " she said, smiling, "this letter is _too_ funny! OliviaPendarth may be a good friend, but she's certainly a good hater. Shesimply loathes Mrs. Crofton. " Then, deliberately, she went over to thefireplace and, lighting a match, set fire to the letter. 

Timmy watched the big sheet of paper curling up in the flame. He was gladindeed that he had read the letter before it was burnt, but he made uphis mind that when he was a grown-up man, he also would burn any letterthat he thought the writer would prefer destroyed. In a way Janet was herson's great exemplar, but he was apt to postpone following the example headmired. 

CHAPTER XXVII

It was after seven, on the evening of that same Sunday, that EnidCrofton, after having spent the whole day in her bedroom, came down toher pretty, cheerful, little sitting-room. 

She had returned from London in an anxious, nervous, strung-up frame ofmind. For the first time in her life she did not know what it was shereally wanted, or rather she was uncertain as to what it would be bestfor her to do. 

The thought of seeing Jack Tosswill, of having to fence and flirt withhim in her present disturbed state of mind, had been intolerable. Thatwas the real reason why she had stayed upstairs all to-day. He had calledthree times, and the third time he had brought with him a letter evenmore passionately loving, while also even more angry and hurt in tone, than the one which she had received from him the day before. 

As she read this second epistle she had told herself, with something likerage, that it was not her fault that what she had intended should be aharmless flirtation had caused such havoc. Still, deep in her heart shewas well aware that but for the havoc she had caused, she could neverhave confided to him her urgent need of the five hundred pounds which hehad procured with such surprising ease. 

Jack had been quite honest with the woman he loved. He had told her ofhis talk with Radmore, of Radmore's immediate, generous response, and thecheque he had given which he, Jack, handed to her as a free gift. 

She had gone up to London fully intending to see the Pipers after she hadcashed the cheque. But when it came to the point she had shirked thesecond half of her programme, telling herself, with perhaps a certainamount of truth, that by waiting till the last day of grace allowed herby that terrible old-clothes woman she would get better terms. Perhapsthen they would be satisfied with three hundred pounds, or even less, and acting on that hope, she had expended a portion of the money inpurchasing a few of the pretty dress etceteras which are so costlynowadays. 

Apart from the time occupied by those pleasant purchases, she had spentevery waking minute of the day with Harold Tremaine, lunching and diningat the big smart restaurants which both her soul and her body loved, going to the play, and listening in between to the most delightfullove-making. .. . 

Small wonder that during that long, dull Sunday, spent perforce in herbedroom, Enid Crofton's mind often took refuge in the thought of the onlyman now in her life with whom all her memories and all her relations hadbeen, and were, absolutely satisfactory. Captain Tremaine was a simple, happy, cheerful soul. Though he was always what he called "dashed short, "when with a woman he flung about his money right royally. Also he was anexpert, not a teasing, lover. He knew, so Enid reminded herselfgratefully, when to stop, as well as when to begin, making love. Howunlike inexpert, tiresome Jack Tosswill! And yet he also was in deadearnest. He knew exactly what he wanted, and more than once, in achaffing, yet serious, fashion, he had assured her that she had bestsubmit at once, as he always "got there in the end. " What he wanted wasthat they should be married, by special license, within a week fromnow, so that they might go back to India, a happy, honeymooning couple, in a fortnight! And while he was with her, describing in eloquent, eagerlanguage what their life would be like and what a delightful, jolly timethey would have, Enid had been sorely, sorely tempted to say "yes. "

And yet? Though Tremaine was Enid Crofton's ideal of what a lover, even ahusband, should be, and she had never liked any man as well, she knewwith a painful, practical knowledge the meaning of the words "genteelpoverty. " Tremaine's regiment would not remain for ever in India, andthen would begin the enforced economies, the weary struggle with aninadequate income she had known with Colonel Crofton. No, no--it wasn'tgood enough!--or at any rate not good enough as long as there was a hopeof anything better. Even so, it was comfortable to know that HaroldTremaine would still be there, a second string to her bow, in six months'or a year's time. 

It was of all this that she thought, a little despondently, as shesettled herself down in the easy chair close to the little wood fire. In a few moments her supper would be brought in by her pleasant-faced, rosy-cheeked parlourmaid. Enid Crofton was dainty and particular as toher food. The bad cooking she had had to endure during those miserablemonths she had spent in Essex, after her husband had been demobilised, had proved a very real addition to her other troubles. 

She had brought a nice sweetbread with her from London yesterday, and shewas now looking forward to having it for her supper. 

All at once there came a ring at the front door, and a feeling of keen, angry annoyance shot through her. Of course it was Jack--Jack again! Hewould ask tiresome, inconvenient questions about the mythical womanfriend, the almost sister, for whom she had required the money, and shewould have to make up tiresome, inconvenient lies. Also he would want tokiss her, and she did so want her dinner!

She stood up--and then the door opened and, instead of Jack, TimmyTosswill came through it. For the first time in their acquaintance shewas glad to see the boy, though she told herself that of course he hadbrought her a letter--another of those odious, reproachful letters fromJack. 

"Good evening, Timmy, " she spoke, as she always did speak, pleasantly. "Have you brought me a message from Rosamund? I hope she hasn't thrown meover? I'm expecting her to lunch to-morrow, you know. "

"I didn't know, " he said gravely, "and I've not brought a message fromanyone, Mrs. Crofton. My coming is a secret. "

"A secret?" Again she spoke easily, jokingly; but there came over her astrange, involuntary feeling of repulsion for the odd-looking child. 

He came up close to her, and, putting his hands behind his back, began tostare fixedly beyond her, at the empty space between her chair and thewhite wall. 

There crept over Enid Crofton a sensation of acute discomfort. Shestepped back, and sat down in her low, easy-chair. What was Timmy lookingat with that curious, fixed stare?

It was in vain that she reminded herself that no sensible person nowbelieves in ghosts, and that she had but to press the bell on the otherside of the fireplace to ensure the attendance of her cheerful servant. These comforting reflections availed her nothing, and a wave of fearadvanced and threatened to engulf her. 

After what seemed to her an interminable pause, but which was really lessthan a minute, Timmy's eyes met hers, and he said abruptly, "Is it truethat someone has asked you to go to India? Rosamund says it is. "

She gave a little gasp of relief. On her way home from the station in theOld Place pony-cart, she had told her companion that while in London shehad met a man who had fallen in love with her in Egypt, during the War. Further, that this handsome, brilliant, rich young soldier had urged herto marry him and go off to India with him at once. She was surprised aswell as dismayed by this quick betrayal of her confidence. What a gooseRosamund was!

"Yes, Timmy, " she bent forward and smiled a little, "it is quite truethat I have been asked to go to India, but that doesn't mean that I'mgoing. "

"I would, if I were you, " said the child gravely. 

"Would you?" Again she smiled. "But I've only just come to Beechfield. I hope you're not in a hurry to get rid of me?"

"No, " he said, "I'm not in a hurry, exactly. It's you who ought to be ina hurry, Mrs. Crofton. " He waited a moment and then added: "India is avery nice place. "

"Yes, indeed. Full of tigers and leopards!" she said playfully. 

"I should go as soon as you can if I were you. "

She looked at him distrustfully. What exactly did he mean?

_"Someone we wot of got off very lightly at the inquest. "_

His voice sank almost to a whisper, but Enid Crofton felt as if theterrible sentence was being shouted for all the world to hear. 

Timmy's eyes were now fixed on the gay-looking blue rug spread out beforethe fender to his right. He was remembering something he had done ofwhich he was ashamed. 

Then he lifted his head and began again staring at the space between Mrs. Crofton's chair and the wall. 

Enid Crofton opened her mouth and then she shut it again. What did theboy know? What had he seen? What had he been told? She remembered thatMr. Tosswill was a magistrate. Had the Pipers been down to see him?

"There were some people, " went on the boy, and again he spoke in thatqueer, muffled whisper, almost as if the words were being dragged out ofhim against his will, "who thought"--he stopped--"who thought, " herepeated, "that Colonel Crofton did not take that poison knowingly. "

She told herself desperately that she must say something--somethingordinary, something of no account, before a power outside herself forcedher to utter words which would lead to horror incalculable. 

Speaking in such a loud discordant voice that Timmy quickly moved back astep or two, she exclaimed: "I was not going to tell anybody yet--but asyou seem so anxious to know my plans, I will tell you a secret, Timmy. I _am_ going to India after all! A splendid strong man, an officer and agentleman who would have won the V. C. Ten times over in any other war, and who would _kill_ anyone who ever said a word against me, has asked meto be his wife, and to go out to India very, very soon. "

"And have you said you will?" he asked. 

"Of course I have. "

"And will you be married soon?" went on her inquisitor. 

"Yes, very soon, " she cried hysterically. "As soon as possible!"

"Then you will have to leave Beechfield. "

She told herself with a kind of passionate rage that the child had noright to ask her such a silly, obvious question, and yet she answered atonce: "Of course I shall leave Beechfield. "

"And you will never come back?"

"I shall never, _never_ come back. " And then she added, almost as if inspite of herself, and with a kind of strange, bitter truthfulness veryforeign to her: "I don't like Beechfield--I don't agree that it's apretty place--I think it's a hideous little village. "

There was a pause. She was seeking for a phrase in which to say"Good-bye, " not so much to Timmy as to all the others. 

"Will you go away to-morrow?" he asked, this time boldly. And sheanswered, "Yes, to-morrow. "

"Perhaps I'd better not tell any of them at Old Place?" It was as if hewas speaking to himself. 

She clutched at the words. 

"I would far rather you did not tell them--I will write to them fromLondon. Can I trust you not to tell them, Timmy?"

He looked at her oddly. "Jack and Rosamund will be sorry, " he saidslowly. And then he jerked his head--his usual way of signifying"Good-bye" when he did not care to shake hands. 

Turning round he walked out of the room, and she heard the front doorbang after him, as also, after a moment or two, the outside door set inthe garden wall. 

Enid Crofton got up. Though she was shaking--shaking all over--she walkedswiftly across her little hall into the dining-room. There she sat downat the writing-table, and took up the telephone receiver. "9846 Regent. "

It was the number of Harold Tremaine's club. She thought he would almostcertainly be there just now. 

She then hung up the receiver again, and, going to the door whichled into the kitchen, she opened it: "Don't bring in my supper yet. I'll ring, when I'm ready for it. " She then went back to the littlewriting-table and waited impatiently. 

At last the bell rang. 

"I want to speak to Captain Tremaine. Is he in the Club? Can you findhim?"

She felt an intense thrill of almost superstitious relief when the answercame: "Yes, ma'am. He's in the Club. I'll go and fetch him. "

She remembered with relief that Tremaine had told her that no one couldoverhear, at any rate at his end, what was being said or answered throughthe telephone--but she also remembered that it was not the same here, inThe Trellis House. 

Judging others by herself, as most of us do in this strange world, shefelt sure that her two young servants were listening behind the door. Still, in a sense there was nothing Enid Crofton liked better thanpitting her wits against other wits. So when she heard the question, "Who is it?" she simply answered, "Darling! Can't you guess?"

In answer to his rapturous assent, she said quietly, "I've made up mymind to do what you wish. "

And then she drank in with intense delight the flood of eager, exultantwords, uttered with such a rush of joy, and in so triumphant a tone, thatfor a moment she thought that they must be heard, if not here, thenthere, if not there, then here. But, after all, what did it matter? Shewould have left this hateful place for ever to-morrow!

And then came a rather difficult moment. She did not wish to tell herservants to-night that she was leaving The Trellis House to-morrow, andyet somehow she must convey that fact to Tremaine. 

As if he could see into her mind, there came the eager question, "Can youcome up to-morrow, darling? The sooner, the better, you know--"

She answered, "I will if you like--at the usual time. "

He said eagerly, "You mean that train arriving at 12. 30--the one I metyou by the other day?"

And again she said, "Yes. "

He asked a little anxiously, "How about money, my precious pet? Are youall right about money?"

For once her hard, selfish heart was touched and she answered truly: "Youneed not bother about that. "

And then there came a whispered, "Call me darling again, darling. "

And she just breathed the word "Darling" into the receiver, making avague resolution as she did so that she would be, as far as would bepossible to her, a good wife to this simple-hearted, big baby of a manwho loved her so dearly. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

Timmy went straight home. He entered the house by one of the back waysand crept upstairs. Late that afternoon he had gratified Nanna by sharingher high tea, and so he was not expected in the dining-room. 

He felt intensely excited--what perhaps an older person would have calleduplifted. He wandered about the corridors of the roomy old house, hishands clasped behind his back, thinking over and exulting in his greatachievement. He felt just a little bit uneasy as to the contents of theletter Mrs. Crofton had said she would write explaining her departure. Asto certain things, Timmy Tosswill was still very much of a child. Hewondered why their enemy, for so he regarded her, should think itnecessary to write to anyone, except perhaps to Rosamund, who, after all, had been her "pal. " He was disagreeably aware that his mother would nothave approved of the method he had used to carry out what he knew to beher ardent wish, and he wondered uncomfortably if Mrs. Crofton would"give him away. "

At last he opened the door of what was now his godfather's bedroom, andwalked across to the wide-open window. All at once there came over him afeeling of wondering joy. He seemed to see, as in a glass darkly, threefigures pacing slowly along the path which bounded the wide lawn below. They were Godfrey Radmore, Betty, and with them another whom he knew washis dear brother, George. George, whom Timmy had never seen since theday, which to the child now seemed so very long ago, when, rather to hissurprise, his eldest brother had lifted him up in his arms to kiss himbefore going out to France at the end of his last leave. And as he gazeddown, tears began to run down his queer little face. 

At last he turned away from the window, and as he went towards the doorhe saw the outline of a paper pad on the writing table which in old daysGeorge and Godfrey had shared between them. 

Blinking away his tears, he took up the pad, and carried it down thelighted passage to his own room. There he sat down, and with a pencilstump extracted from his waistcoat pocket, he wrote:

 Dear Mum, This is from Timmy. I hope you don't still feel the pierce. 

 Your affectionate son, Timothy Godfrey Radmore Tosswill. 

He put the bit of paper into a grubby envelope in which he had for sometime kept some used French stamps; then, licking down the flap, he lefthis room and went into his mother's, where he propped up the envelope onthe fat pin-cushion lying on her dressing-table, remembering the whilethat so had been propped an anonymous letter written many years beforeby a vengeful nursery maid, who had been dismissed at Nanna's wish. 

 * * * * *

Monday morning opened badly for more than one inmate of Old Place. Dollyand her lover had discovered with extreme surprise that one hundredpounds would only achieve about a fifth of that which they consideredmust be done before his vicarage would be fit for even the mostreasonable of brides. With Dolly this had produced an extremelydisagreeable fit of bad temper--of temper indeed so bad that it had beennoticed by Godfrey Radmore, who had followed Janet into the drawing-roomafter breakfast to ask what was the matter. 

Jack Tosswill had gone off as early as he felt he decently could go, toThe Trellis House, only to find its mistress gone--and gone, whichnaturally much increased his disappointment and anger, only ten minutesbefore his arrival! He had interviewed both servants, they only toowilling, for his infatuation was by now known to the whole village. Butwhat they had to say gave him no comfort--indeed, it was almost exactlywhat the house-parlourmaid had said last week, when Enid had gone off totown, leaving no address behind her. This time, however, she had said shewould telephone from town. 

As he was turning away, feeling sick at heart, the cook suddenlyvouchsafed the information that her mistress had left a letter for Mrs. Tosswill, and that The Trellis House odd man, on his way back from thestation, where he had gone with Mrs. Crofton, for she had taken twolarge trunks this time, would deliver it at Old Place. 

But when he reached home the letter had not yet been delivered, and Jack, half consciously desiring to visit his misery on someone else, hunted upTimmy in order to demand why Josephine and her kittens had not been sentback to Epsom ere now. There had followed a lively scrap, leaving themboth in a bad mood; but at last it was arranged that Godfrey, Betty andTimmy should motor to Epsom with the cat and her kittens after luncheon. 

The morning wore itself slowly away. Only two of the younger people wereentirely happy--Betty, doing her usual work, and Godfrey Radmore. Even hewas more restless than usual, and kept wandering in and out of thekitchen in a way which Rosamund, who was helping Betty, thought verytiresome. As for Timmy, his mother could not make him out. He seemeduncomfortable, and, to her practised eye, appeared to have something onhis conscience. 

Three times in one hour Jack came into the drawing-room and asked hisstep-mother whether she had not yet had a letter from The Trellis House. Now Jack Tosswill had always been reserved, absurdly sensitive to anykind of ridicule. Yet now he scarcely made an effort to conceal hisunease and suspense. Indeed, the third time he had actually exclaimed, "Janet! Are you concealing anything from me?" And she had answered, honestly surprised, "I don't know what you mean, Jack. I've had nocommunication from Mrs. Crofton of any kind. Are you sure she wroteme a letter?" And he had answered in a wretched tone: "Quite sure. "

And then, about five minutes before luncheon, and luncheon had to be avery punctual meal at Old Place, for it was the one thing about which itsmaster was particular, Timmy came in with a letter in his hand, andsidling up to his mother, observed with rather elaborate unconcern: "Aletter for you, Mum. "

She looked at him quite straight. "Has this letter only just been left, my dear?"

He answered rather hurriedly: "It came a little while ago, but I put itin my pocket and forgot it. "

Janet broke the seal, for the letter was sealed, and then she called outto her son, who was making for the door: "Don't go away, Timmy. Bettywill ring the lunch bell in a moment. "

Unwillingly he turned round and stood watching her while she read thefour pages of closely written handwriting. But, rather to his relief, she made no remark, and the bell rang just as she put the letter back inits envelope. Then she slipped it in her pocket, for Janet Tosswill wasone of the very few women in England who still had a pocket in her dress. 

Giving him what he felt to be a condemnatory look, but in that he waswrong, for she was too surprised, relieved, and, yes, disturbed, tothink of him at all, she motioned the boy to go before her into thedining-room. 

As the Sunday joint was always served cold on Monday, they were allthere, even Betty, but owing, as at any rate most of them believed, tothe unfortunate discovery made by Dolly that the pre-war pound was nowonly worth about seven and six, it was rather a mournful meal. 

At last Rosamund went out to get the coffee, and then Janet addressedher son: "Timmy, " she observed, "I have something I wish to say to theothers, so will you please go and have your orange with Nanna?"

Timmy obeyed his mother without a word, and then, after the coffee hadcome in and been poured out, Janet said slowly:

"I've had a letter from Mrs. Crofton, and as she asks me to tell you allwhat is in it, I think it will be simpler if I read it out now. "

She waited a moment, gathering up her courage, wondering the whilewhether she was doing the best thing by Jack. On the whole she thought_yes_. There are blows which are far better borne among one's fellowsthan in solitude. 

She wished to make her reading as colourless as possible, but she couldnot keep a certain touch of sarcasm out of her voice as she read aloudthe first two sentences:

 "Dearest Mrs. Tosswill, "You have always been so kind to me that I feel I must write and tell you why I am leaving the dear Trellis House and delightful Beechfield. "

She looked up, but no one spoke; Jack was staring straight before him, and she went on:

 "To my _utter_ surprise a very old friend of my late husband's and mine has asked me to be his wife. He is going back to India in a fortnight, and so, much as I shrink from the thought of all the bustle and hurry it will involve, I feel that as it must be now or never, it must be _now_, and the fact that I have a good offer for The Trellis House seemed to me a kind of sign-post. 

 "Though perhaps I ought not to say so, he is a splendid soldier and did extremely well in the war. He won a bar to his M. C. , which my husband once told me would have won him a V. C. In any other war. 

 "He is anxious that I should not come down to Beechfield again. The time is so short, and there is so much to be done, that I fear I shall not see any of you before I leave for India. I would have liked Rosamund to come to my wedding, but we shall be married very quietly, and the day and hour will probably be fixed at the last minute. 

 "I am purposely not telling you where I am staying as I do not want to give you the bother of answering this rather unconventional letter. As for presents I have always hated them. 

 "All the business about The Trellis House is being done by a kind solicitor I know, who arranged about the lease for me. 

 "Might I ask you to remember me very kindly to everybody, and to give my special love to Rosamund and to sweet Miss Betty? I wish I had known her better. 

 "Again thanking you for your kindness, and assuring you I shall always look back to the happy days I spent at Beechfield, "Believe me to remain, Yours very sincerely, Enid Crofton. "

There was a long pause. Jack was now crumbling up his bread and thensmoothing out the crumbs with a kind of mechanical, steam-roller movementof his right-hand forefinger. 

Rosamund was the first to speak. "Why, she hasn't even told us his name!"she exclaimed. "How very funny of her!"

And then Godfrey Radmore spoke, just a thought more sharply than usual:"I'm not at all surprised at that. She wants to start quite clear again. "

Betty said quietly: "That's natural enough, isn't it?" But her heart wasfull of aching sympathy for her brother. She felt, rather than saw, hisrigid, mask-like face. 

They all got up, and slowly began to disperse. After all, there was onlyone among them to whom this news was of any real moment. 

Janet, feeling curiously tired, went into the drawing-room. The momentshe had finished Enid Crofton's letter she had begun to torment herselfas to whether she had done right or wrong after all?

To her relief Godfrey Radmore came into the drawing-room. "I want to putthose two unfortunate people out of their misery, Janet. Shall I tellDolly, or will you tell her, that I want to give her a thousand pounds asa wedding present?"

Janet had very strong ideas of what was right and wrong, or perhaps itwould be better to say of what was meet and proper. 

"I don't think they could take a present of that sort from you, " she saidvery decidedly. "These are hard times, Godfrey, even for rich people. Butyou always talk as if you were made of money!"

"Do I?"

He looked taken aback, and even hurt. 

"No, no, " she said, "I don't mean that, but I'm upset to-day. What withone thing and another, I hardly know what I'm saying. " She caught herselfup. "I'll tell you what I think would be reasonable. As you are so kind, give Dolly a hundred pounds. It will make a real difference. "

"No, " he said, "it's going to be a thousand. "

"I'm quite sure that John would not allow Dolly to accept it. "

Radmore knew that when Janet invoked John, it meant that she had made upher mind as to what must be. 

He went to the door, opened it, and called out in what seemed to Janet avery imperious tone: "Betty?" And yet no glimmer of the truth came intoJanet's mind. 

"It's no good sending for Betty, " she said sharply. "There are thingsthat can be done, and things that can't be done. "

As she uttered that very obvious remark, Betty appeared. 

"Yes, " she said a little breathlessly. "Yes, Godfrey, what is it? We havejust started washing up--"

He took her hand and led her in front of Janet. "We have got to tell her_now_, " he said. "We must do it for Dolly's sake; I never saw anyonelooking so woe-begone as she has looked all the morning. "

And then, at last, Janet began to understand. 

"I don't think Mr. Tosswill will be able to object to Dolly's _brother_giving her a thousand pounds, " he said, and then, very much to Janet'ssurprise, he suddenly threw his arms round her, and gave her a great hug. 

 * * * * *

By MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES

WHAT TIMMY DIDFROM OUT THE VASTY DEEPTHE LONELY HOUSEGOOD OLD ANNALOVE AND HATREDLILLA: A PART OF HER LIFETHE RED CROSS BARGE