round so that he might look after
_me_. The man knew me by sight, and was laying bare the whole horrible
truth.

"That's her, sir! The lady from Pastimes!" I felt ruffled, and went
straight into my "sulky," where I stayed till lunch-time. We had a
delicious _souffle_, and Charmion asked no questions, and went out of
the way to be particularly sweet. I felt better every moment, and by
the time coffee arrived had quite recovered my spirits.

If the General _had_ lived in Pastimes, he would have had to use the
bath-chair just the same, and his hair would have been quite as white!
Pastimes could not have made him young! Charmion is right. I wear my
heart on my sleeve. I must learn to be more callous and matter-of-fact!

CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE VICARAGE CALLS.

On Sunday we went to the Parish Church. At breakfast, Charmion seemed
silent and depressed; but, true to our agreement, I asked no questions,
and she volunteered no explanation. She said she was not going to
church, but later on she changed her mind. I think she saw that I was
disappointed, and a trifle shy at going alone, so off we went together--
Charmion a marvel of unobtrusive elegance in grey, and I "taking the
eye" in sapphire-blue--along the breezy lane, past the closed gates of
Uplands, through the shuttered High Street into the tiny square, in a
corner of which the church was nooked, with the vicarage garden
adjoining the churchyard.

The congregation was assembling from different parts, and everybody who
passed stared at us, the men stolidly enough, the women with a curiosity
which, to my mind at least, had something antagonistic in its nature.
Their pursed lips, their sidelong glances, reminded me of the assistants
in the draper's shop; of the cook who muttered that she was not "the
only one". I looked at Charmion to see if she felt the atmosphere, but
her eyes held the blank, far-off expression which marked her dark hours.
She had no attention to spare for village worthies: nothing that they
could do or think was of sufficient importance to arouse her attention.
Inside, the church was bare and uninteresting, and the musical service
poor, but the Vicar himself attracted me greatly. A plain-looking man
nearing forty, but with a most expressive and eloquent voice. He read
the service exquisitely--so exquisitely, that words which one knew by
heart seemed suddenly filled with new meaning. When the time came for
the sermon I expected great