left in
the house. That fact gave her an excellent excuse for going off now to
the Stores, and taking Mr. Blake's letter with her. If she got an
opportunity of showing it, it would make clear to Mr. Head what a good
fellow was Miss Rose's betrothed, and what a kind heart he had.

And so, but for Rose's remark as to her distaste for meat, Jervis
Blake's letter would not have been taken by old Anna out of the Trellis
House, for it was the lack of Parmesan cheese in the store cupboard
which finally decided the matter.

After putting on her green velvet bonnet and her thick, warm brown
jacket, she folded up the sheets of French notepaper and put them in an
inside pocket.

The fact that it was early closing day did not disturb Anna, for though
most of the Witanbury tradespeople were so ungracious that when their
shops were shut they would never put themselves out to oblige an old
customer, the owner of the Stores, if he was in--and he nearly always
did stay indoors on early closing day--was always willing to go into the
closed shop and get anything that was wanted. He was not one to turn
good custom away.

The back door was opened by Alfred Head himself. "Ah, Frau Bauer! Come
into the passage." He spoke in German, but in spite of his cordial words
she felt the lack of welcome in his voice. "Is there anything I can do
for you?"

"Yes," she said. "I want half a pound of Parmesan cheese, and you might
also give me a pound of butter."

"Oh, certainly. Come through into the shop." He turned on the light. "I
do not ask you into the parlour, for the simple reason that I have some
one there who has come to see me on business--it is business about one
of my little mortgages. Polly is out, up at the Deanery. Her sister is
not going to stay on there; she has found some excuse to go away. It
makes her so sad and mopish to be always with Miss Haworth. Even now,
after all this time, the young lady will hardly speak at all. She does
not glory in her loss, as a German betrothed would do!"

"Poor thing!" said old Anna feelingly. "Women are not like men, Herr
Hegner. They have tender hearts. She thinks of her dead lover as her
beloved one--not as a hero. For my part, my heart aches for the dear
young lady, when I see her walking about, all dressed in black."

They were now standing in the big empty shop. Alfred Head turned to the
right and took off a generous half-pound from the Parmesan cheese which,
as Anna knew well, was of a ver