ked that pliancy and tact which her mother so much
valued, and had expected her to pick up for herself. Harriet, if she had
been allowed, would have driven Lilia to an open rupture, and, what was
worse, she would have done the same to Philip two years before, when he
returned full of passion for Italy, and ridiculing Sawston and its ways.

"It's a shame, Mother!" she had cried. "Philip laughs at everything--the
Book Club, the Debating Society, the Progressive Whist, the bazaars.
People won't like it. We have our reputation. A house divided against
itself cannot stand."

Mrs. Herriton replied in the memorable words, "Let Philip say what he
likes, and he will let us do what we like." And Harriet had acquiesced.

They sowed the duller vegetables first, and a pleasant feeling of
righteous fatigue stole over them as they addressed themselves to the
peas. Harriet stretched a string to guide the row straight, and Mrs.
Herriton scratched a furrow with a pointed stick. At the end of it she
looked at her watch.

"It's twelve! The second post's in. Run and see if there are any
letters."

Harriet did not want to go. "Let's finish the peas. There won't be any
letters."

"No, dear; please go. I'll sow the peas, but you shall cover them
up--and mind the birds don't see 'em!"

Mrs. Herriton was very careful to let those peas trickle evenly from
her hand, and at the end of the row she was conscious that she had never
sown better. They were expensive too.

"Actually old Mrs. Theobald!" said Harriet, returning.

"Read me the letter. My hands are dirty. How intolerable the crested
paper is."

Harriet opened the envelope.

"I don't understand," she said; "it doesn't make sense."

"Her letters never did."

"But it must be sillier than usual," said Harriet, and her voice began
to quaver. "Look here, read it, Mother; I can't make head or tail."

Mrs. Herriton took the letter indulgently. "What is the difficulty?" she
said after a long pause. "What is it that puzzles you in this letter?"

"The meaning--" faltered Harriet. The sparrows hopped nearer and began
to eye the peas.

"The meaning is quite clear--Lilia is engaged to be married. Don't cry,
dear; please me by not crying--don't talk at all. It's more than I could
bear. She is going to marry some one she has met in a hotel. Take the
letter and read for yourself." Suddenly she broke down over what might
seem a small point. "How dare she not tell me direct! How dare she
w