Green remained outside. "Not to-night, thanks," he called back. "I've
got some work to do. Good-night!"

The gate closed behind her, and Juliet walked up the path with Columbus
trotting sedately by her side. She heard her escort's departing footsteps
as she went, and wondered when they would meet again.

CHAPTER V

THE GREAT MAN

The church at Little Shale was very ancient and picturesque. It stood
almost opposite to the lodge-gates of Shale Court, the abode of the great
Mr. Fielding. Two cracked bells hung in its crumbling square tower,
disturbing once a week the jackdaws that built in the ivy. Just once a
week ever since the Dark Ages, was Juliet's reflection as she dutifully
obeyed the somewhat querulous-sounding summons on the following day. She
could not picture their ringing for any bridal festivity, though it
seemed possible that they might sometimes toll for the dead.

Two incredibly old yew-trees mounted guard on each side of the gate and
another of immense size overhung the porch. The path was lined by
grave-stones that all looked as if they were tottering to a fall.

An old clergyman in a cassock that was brown with age hurried past her as
she walked up the path. She thought he matched his surroundings as he
disappeared at a trot round the corner of the church. Then from behind
her came the hoot of a motor-horn, and she glanced back to see a closed
car that glittered at every angle swoop through the open gates and swerve
round to the churchyard. She wanted to stop and see its occupants alight,
but decorum prompted her to pass on, and she entered the church, which
smelt of the mould of centuries, and paused inside.

It was a plain little place with plastered walls, and green glass
windows, and one large square pew under the pulpit. The other pews were
modern and very bare, occupied sparsely by villagers who all had their
faces turned over their shoulders and were craning to watch the door.

No one looked at her, however, and Juliet, after brief hesitation, sat
down in a chair close to the porch. The entrance of the Court party was
evidently something of an event, and she determined to get a good view.

Footsteps came up the path, and on the very verge of the porch a voice
spoke--a woman's voice, unmodulated, arrogant.

"Oh, really, Edward! I don't see why your village schoolmaster should be
asked to lunch every Sunday, however immaculate he may be. I object on
principle."

The words were s