had
fallen into her hands on sweets. That would have been the usual thing;
but no, she was going to spend it on something very useful and
necessary. That ten shillings, in fact, so carelessly flung aside by
Mrs. Potten, was going to be spent in a way very few girls would think
of. To spend it on an umbrella was wonderfully virtuous and made the
whole affair a sort of duty.

The umbrella, in short, had become now part of Gwendolen's future.
Virtue walking with an umbrella. Without that umbrella there would be a
distinct blank in Gwendolen's life!

If she obeyed her second impulse on the moment, that umbrella would
never become hers. She would for ever lose that umbrella. But neither
Mr. Harding nor Mr. Bingham seemed to think of her, or her note. They
were already rushing off to lectures or chapels or something. The
impulse died!

So the poor silly child pretended to search in the rooms at Christ
Church with no less energy than Mrs. Harding and Mrs. Dashwood, and
much more thoroughly than Boreham, who did nothing more than put up the
lights and stand about looking gloomy.

The Warden was walking slowly with Lady Dashwood on the terrace below
when the searchers came out announcing that no note could be found.

Boreham's arms were full of parcels, and these were distributed among
the Warden, Lady Dashwood, and Mrs. Dashwood.

Mrs. Harding said "good-bye" outside the great gate.

"I shall bring Miss Scott home, after the work is over," she said; and
Gwendolen glanced at the Warden in the fading afternoon light with some
confidence, for was not the affair of the note over? What more could
happen? She could not be certain whether he looked at her or not. He
moved away the moment that Mrs. Harding had ceased speaking. He bowed,
and in another moment was talking to Mr. Boreham.

May Dashwood had slipped her hand into her aunt's arm, making it obvious
to Boreham that he and the Warden must walk on ahead, or else walk
behind. They walked on ahead.

"I've got to fetch Mrs. Potten from Eliston's," he said fretfully, as he
walked beside the Warden. All four went along in silence. They passed
Carfax. There, a little farther on, was Mrs. Potten just at the shop's
door, looking out keenly through her glasses, peering from one side of
the street to the other.

She came forward to meet them, evidently charmed at seeing the Warden.

"I'm afraid I made a great fuss over that note. Did you find it,
Bernard?"

Boreham felt t