"Oh, dear, dear! That will never do," said Mrs. Barraclough, mastering a powerful desire to kiss the microphone into which she spoke. "You mustn't even imagine anything could go wrong. Now, what are you going to do this afternoon?"

Sniff! "I donno--nuffin'," came over the wire moistly.

"Then I'll tell you. You'll go round to your dressmaker's and try on your wedding dress and pretend you're walking down the aisle with your hand on Tony's arm."

"I c-couldn't--b-but it's a l-lovely idea."

"Of course you could and you've got to. After all, it's what you'll be doing in real earnest next Thursday."

Mrs. Barraclough could almost swear to having seen the smile that dried up those tears that fell a hundred and fifty miles away.

"I'll t-try," said a tiny voice. "You are a d-darling." And later in the afternoon the telephone bell rang again sad the same voice, with a brave ring to it, announced "I've got it on."

After that Mrs. Barraclough was perfectly sure everything would be all right and walked down to the village to enquire about the prospective mother.

Shortly after she had gone Jane, who was entering the drawing room with a silver tea tray, had a real adventure. On pushing open the door she had an impression of two black coat tails disappearing through the French windows into the garden. With perilous despatch she set down the tray and rushed out to the gravel path, calling loudly to Flora.

Flora, arrayed in a greasy blue overall, came hurrying from the garage where she had been spending the day tinkering with the car.

"Yes, what is it?" she cried.

Jane was pointing down a grove of Dorothy Perkins at the end of which a stout figure in black was retreating.

"That old clergyman!"

"What about him?"

"I'll swear he was in this room when I brought in the tea."

"You sure?"

"Positive. I saw him pa.s.s the house two or three times this morning and yesterday too."

"Half a mo," said Flora and hurried over to the writing table. "I say, haven't these papers been moved?"

"Yes, they have. My eye! it's exciting. What do you make of it?"

"Something fishy."

"Do you think--do you possibly think it's anything to do with Mr.

Anthony?"

Jane's eyes sparkled like jewels at the very thought of anything so adorable.

"I bet it has," said Flora. "What else could it be?"

"Might be just a rotten burglary."

"Chuck it," said Flora. "Don't spoil a decent show."

"I don't want to. But didn't she tell you Mr. Anthony had spoofed the crowd that were against him?"

"Um! But they were a downey lot and p'raps after all they didn't buy the spoof."

"Wouldn't it be terrific," exclaimed Jane, clasping her hands, "wouldn't it be terrific if there was a dust up down here and we were in it."

"Shut up," Flora implored, "it's a jolly sight too good to be true.

Better light the spirit lamp, the old lady'll be in to tea directly."

The words were scarcely spoken before a shadow was cast across the floor and Mrs. Barraclough appeared at the window carrying a basket of roses.

"Conybeare," she said, addressing the old Devonian gardener who was tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the borders a few yards away. "Conybeare, I am going down to Mrs. Bra.s.sbound later in the evening. I want you to cut me a nice bunch of grapes and some vegetables--nice ones."

The old fellow touched his cap and moved away. Mrs. Barraclough entered smilingly.

"And I shall want the car, Flora."

"It's all ready. I'll bring it round, madam."

"There's no hurry. Aren't these roses delicious?" She buried her face in the orgy of pink, crimson and yellowy-white blooms. "Give me that bowl, my dear."

And while she took a few from the basket and arranged them in the big silver bowl she continued pleasantly--

"I always wish I were a girl again when I pick roses. There's a sentiment about them--and perhaps a danger--a nice sort of danger. You know, it's very sad to reach an age at which danger no longer exists.

By the way, a very singular thing happened to me on my way to the village. I was followed, Flora!"

"Followed! But who'd dare?" said Jane.

Mrs. Barraclough pouted pathetically.

"Please don't say that," she begged. "It makes one feel so old. After all, there is no law to prevent one being followed unless it is the law of selection."

"Who followed you?" asked Flora.

"A man," replied Mrs. Barraclough with ceremony. "A very respectable man. He revived a sense of youth in me by wearing elastic sided boots."

"What was his face like?"

"In the circ.u.mstances, Jane, I kept my eyes discreetly downcast, but I had a fleeting impression of clerical broadcloth."

"That man!" exclaimed Flora with sudden emphasis.

"My dear, it is most unbecoming to speak disparagingly of a member of the clergy. As a girl the word curate inspired in me feelings of respect and sentiment."

"There's not much to get sentimental over in that old beast," said Jane. "He's been hanging around since yesterday evening and what's more, I'll bet he's up to no good."

Mrs. Barraclough had her own opinion of the mysterious parson who had addressed her in the lane but she preferred to arrive at the opinions of others by her own method.

"I am sure it is very wrong to bet on clergymen as though they were race horses," she replied.