"Oh, the aerophone, I think; I don't remember."

"That must be a story," he said, laughing. "I always remember Layard's
conversation for longer than I want; it has a knack of impressing itself
upon me. What was it? Cemetery land, church debts, the new drainage
scheme, or something equally entrancing and confidential?"

Under this cross-examination Stella grew desperate, unnecessarily,
perhaps, and said in a voice that was almost cross:

"I cannot tell you; please let's talk of something else."

Then of a sudden Morris understood, and, like a foolish man, at once
jumped to a conclusion far other than the truth. Doubtless Layard had
gone to the church to propose to Stella, and she had accepted him, or
half accepted him; the confusion of her manner told its own tale. A new
and strange sensation took possession of Morris. He felt unwell; he felt
angry; if the aerophone refused to work at all to-morrow, he would care
nothing. He could not see quite clearly, and was not altogether sure
where he was walking.

"I beg your pardon," he said in a cold voice, as he recovered himself;
"it was most impertinent of me." He was going to add, "pray accept my
congratulations," but fortunately, or unfortunately, stopped himself in
time.

Stella divined something of what was passing in his mind; not all,
indeed, for to her the full measure of his folly would have been
incomprehensible. For a moment she contemplated an explanation, then
abandoned the idea because she could find no words; because, also, this
was another person's secret, and she had no right to involve an honest
man, who had paid her a great compliment, in her confidences. So she
said nothing. To Morris, for the moment at any rate, a conclusive proof
of his worst suspicions.

The rest of that walk was marked by unbroken silence. Both of them were
very glad when it was finished.

It was five o'clock when they reached the Abbey, so that there were two
hours to be spent before it was time to dress for dinner. When she had
taken off her things Stella went straight to her father's room to give
him his tea. By now Mr. Fregelius was much better, although the nature
of his injuries made it imperative that he should still stay in bed.

"Is that you, Stella?" he said, in his high, nervous voice, and,
although she could not see them in the shadow of the curtain, she knew
that his quick eyes were watching her face eagerly.

"Yes, father, I have brought you your tea. Are you rea