she's
just dropped off. I'll go softly out."

She moved with ponderous care out of the room, followed by Delia, but
came to a stand again in the hall.

"You heard about this picnic of the Palmers?" she said, inquiringly.
"You're going, of course. It seems to be a large affair."

"I'm not quite sure," said Delia.

"Julia Gibbins came in this morning," continued Mrs Winn, "quite
excited about her invitation. She wanted to know what I meant to wear.
Julia's so absurdly frivolous, she thinks as much of her dress as a girl
of sixteen. `At our age, my dear Julia,' I said to her, `we need not
trouble ourselves about that. You may depend on it, no one will notice
what we have on. For myself, I shall put on my Paisley shawl and my
thickest boots. Picnics are always draughty and damp.' I don't think
she quite liked it. Now, do you suppose the Palmers have asked Mr
Goodwin? Anna Forrest's so much there, that I should _almost_ think
they would."

"Why not, as well as other people in Dornton?" asked Delia.

"He never goes to Waverley," said Mrs Winn.

"That is by his own wish," said Delia, quickly. "He has told me about
that."

"Oh, indeed, by his own wish," repeated Mrs Winn, her wide open grey
eyes resting thoughtfully upon Delia; "that's strange, with his
grandchild staying there. However," with a parting nod, as she moved
slowly out, "we shall soon see about the picnic."

Delia smiled to herself as she watched her visitor's portly form out of
sight. How very little it would matter to the Professor whether the
Palmers sent him an invitation or not! He would not even notice the
absence of one. He had never cultivated the habit of feeling himself
injured, and was happily placed far above the miseries of fancied
slights and neglect. Nevertheless she resented, as she always did, the
tone of condescension with which Mrs Winn had mentioned him, and
returned to the drawing-room with a ruffled brow and a vexed spirit.

Mrs Hunt still slumbered peacefully, quite undisturbed by the little
agitations of Dornton. As her daughter entered, she gently opened her
eyes.

"Del, my love," she murmured, "I meant to ask you to go and inquire how
Mrs Hurst's little boy is this morning. Did I?"

"No, mother," said Delia.

"There's a beautiful jelly made for him," said Mrs Hunt, closing her
eyes again, and folding her hands in front of her comfortable person.
"I thought you might take it."

"I passed the door this m