and such
sundries as stamps and writing paper. Even then, Elizabeth grumbled
bitterly at her extravagance in continuing to buy a daily paper, asking
what business she had to spend sixpence a week on such a needless
luxury. But Beatrice would not make up her mind to dock the paper with
its occasional mention of Geoffrey.

Again, Owen Davies was a perpetual anxiety to her. His infatuation for
herself was becoming notorious; everybody saw it except her father. Mr.
Granger's mind was so occupied with questions connected with tithe that
fortunately for Beatrice little else could find an entry. Owen dogged
her about; he would wait whole hours outside the school or by the
Vicarage gate merely to speak a few words to her. Sometimes when at
length she appeared he seemed to be struck dumb, he could say nothing,
but would gaze at her with his dull eyes in a fashion that filled her
with vague alarm. He never ventured to speak to her of his love indeed,
but he looked it, which was almost as bad. Another thing was that he
had grown jealous. The seed which Elizabeth had planted in his mind had
brought forth abundantly, though of course Beatrice did not know that
this was her sister's doing.

On the very morning that Geoffrey went away Mr. Davies had met her as
she was walking back from the station and asked her if Mr. Bingham had
gone. When she replied that this was so, she had distinctly heard him
murmur, "Thank God! thank God!" Subsequently she discovered also that he
bribed the old postman to keep count of the letters which she sent and
received from Geoffrey.

These things filled Beatrice with alarm, but there was worse behind. Mr.
Davies began to send her presents, first such things as prize pigeons
and fowls, then jewellery. The pigeons and fowls she could not well
return without exciting remark, but the jewellery she sent back by one
of the school children. First came a bracelet, then a locket with his
photograph inside, and lastly, a case that, when she opened it, which
her curiosity led her to do, nearly blinded her with light. It was a
diamond necklace, and she had never seen such diamonds before, but from
their size and lustre she knew that each stone must be worth hundreds of
pounds. Beatrice put it in her pocket and carried it until she met him,
which she did in the course of that afternoon.

"Mr. Davies," she said before he could speak, and handing him the
package, "this has been sent to me by mistake. Will you kind