to
the writing-table and filled up the cheque. "There," she said, handing
it to Daphne, "put it in an envelope and direct it at once--you'll find
a stamp in that box, and it can go by the next post."

"By the way, my dear," she added, as she was leaving the room, "I
needn't tell you that _I_ shall not breathe a word to a soul of our
little transaction, and I should advise you, in your own interests, to
keep it entirely to yourself."

"I was quite wrong about Mrs. Stimpson," Daphne told herself
reproachfully, after she had slipped the letter containing bill and
cheque into the letter-box in the hall. "She _can_ be kind sometimes,
and I've been a little beast to see only the comic side of her! I
daresay she won't even _wear_ that pendant."

But Mrs. Stimpson had every intention of wearing it that same evening.
It is not often that one has the opportunity of doing a kindness and
securing a real bargain at a single stroke; and she knew enough about
jewels to be fully aware that, if the ornament was a trifle
old-fashioned, she had not done at all badly over her purchase.

"It really suits me very well," she thought, as, after putting the last
touches to her evening demi-toilette, she fastened the pendant round her
neck. "Even better than I expected. It was lucky Miss Heritage came to
_me_. A jeweller would have been sure to cheat her, poor child!"

And she went down to the drawing-room feeling serenely satisfied with
herself.

CHAPTER II

RUSHING TO CONCLUSIONS

Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, as she sat in the drawing-room, where the
curtains had been drawn and the lamps lighted, was occupied with a
project which she was anxious to impart to her husband as soon as he
returned. Some time before a dull rumble from the valley had informed
her that his usual train was approaching Gablehurst station, and now she
heard the click of the front gate, the crunch of his well-known step on
the gravel, and the opening of the hall door.

"I want to speak to you for a moment, Sidney," she said, opening the
drawing-room door. "Come in here before you go up to dress." (Mrs.
Stimpson insisted on his dressing for dinner. It was customary in all
really good society, and also it would prevent him from feeling awkward
in evening clothes--which it never did.)

"Very well, my dear," he said, entering. "Any news with you?" which was
his invariable question.

Mr. Stimpson was short and inclined to be stout. What remained of his
hair