"quite the lady," as more than one of her
envious neighbours had said to themselves when seeing her go by on her
husband's arm.

Because of the presence of this man who, though German-born, had elected
to become an Englishman, and devote his very considerable
intelligence--the Dean prided himself on his knowledge of human nature,
and on his quickness in detecting humble talent--to the service of his
adopted country, the sermon was perhaps a thought more fair, even
cordial, to Britain's formidable enemy, than it would otherwise have
been.

The messages of the King and of Lord Kitchener to the Expeditionary
Force gave the Dean a fine text for his discourse, and he paid a very
moving and eloquent tribute to the Silence of the People. He reminded
his hearers that even if they, in quiet Witanbury, knew nothing of the
great and stirring things which were happening elsewhere, there must
have been thousands--it might truly be said tens of thousands--of men
and women who had known that our soldiers were leaving their country for
France. And yet not a word had been said, not a hint conveyed, either
privately or in the press. He himself had one who was very dear and near
to his own dearest and nearest, in that Expeditionary Force, and yet not
a word had been breathed, even to him.

Then he went on to a sadder and yet in its way an even more glorious
theme--the loss of His Majesty's good ship _Amphion_. He described the
splendid discipline of the men, the magnificent courage of the captain,
who, when recovering from a shock which had stretched him insensible,
had rushed to stop the engines. He told with what composure the men had
fallen in, and how everything had been done, without hurry or confusion,
in the good old British sea way; and how, thanks to that, twenty minutes
after the _Amphion_ had struck a mine, men, officers, and captain had
left the ship.

And after he had finished his address--he kept it quite short, for Dr.
Haworth was one of those rare and wise men who never preach a long
sermon--the whole congregation rose to their feet and sang "God Save the
King."

* * * * *

This golden feeling of security, of happy belief that all was, and must
be, well, lasted till the following afternoon. And the first of the
dwellers in Witanbury Close to have that comfortable feeling
shattered--shattered for ever--was Mrs. Otway.

She was about to pay a late call on Mrs. Robey, who, after all, ha