way and she stood still on the road. She heard his voice
speaking to the flyman, the flyman's exhortation to his horse, the
sounds of the wheels receding along the road. Then slowly she went back.

"This is what they mean," she murmured to herself. "This is what they
mean." It was the joy past expression, the contentment past
understanding. And all in one evening they had sprung up for her out of
a barren thirsty land. Blent had never been beautiful before nor the
river sparkled as it ran; youth was not known before, and beauty had
been thrown away. The world was changed; and it was very wonderful.

When Cecily went into her the Imp was packing; with critical care she
stowed her smartest frock in the trunk.

"I must be up early and see about the carriage," she remarked. "I dare
say Mason----. But you're not listening, Cecily!"

"No, I wasn't listening," said Cecily, scorning apology or excuse.

"You people in love are very silly. That's the plain English of it,"
observed Mina loftily.

Cecily looked at her a minute, then stretched her arms and sighed in
luxurious weariness. "I dare say that's the plain English of it," she
admitted. "But, oh, how different it sounds before translation, dear!"

XXVIII

THE CAT AND THE BELL

Mr Gainsborough lost his head. He might have endured the note that had
been left for him--it said only that his daughter had gone to town for a
couple of days with Mina Zabriska; besides he had had notes left for him
before. But there was Mason's account of the evening and of the
morning--of Harry's arrival, of the conference in the Long Gallery, of
the sandwiches and the old brown, of the departure of the ladies at
seven o'clock. Mason was convinced that something was up; knowing Mr
Harry as he did, and her late Ladyship as he had, he really would not
like to hazard an opinion what; Mr Gainsborough, however, could see for
himself that candles had been left to burn themselves out and that china
had been broken in the Long Gallery. Availing himself dexterously of his
subordinate position, Mason was open to state facts but respectfully
declined to draw inferences. Gainsborough rushed off to the Long
Gallery. There lay his bit of Chelsea on the floor--upset, smashed, not
picked up! There must have been a convulsion indeed, he declared, as
ruefully and tenderly he gathered the fragments.

Quite off his balance and forgetful of perils, he ordered the
pony-chaise and had himself driven in