esire to put her knife into any giddy young
girl who had thrown her net over the Warden.

These desires fought tooth and nail with a certain dogged sentiment of
fear--a fear of the Warden. If he was deeply in love, what might he do
or not do? Would he put Potten End under a ban? Would he excommunicate
her, Marian Potten?

And so Mrs. Potten's mind whirled.

At a certain shop in the High there was May Dashwood, looking at a
window full of books. No doubt Lady Dashwood was inside, or, more
probably, in the shop next door.

An inspiration came to Mrs. Potten. Was the Warden so very much in love?
Belinda Scott laid great stress on his being very much in love, and the
whole thing being a surprise! Belinda Scott was a liar! And the little
daughter who could stoop to thieving ten shillings at a bazaar, might
well have been put on by her mother to some equally noxious behaviour to
the Warden. She might have lain in wait for him behind doors and on
staircases; she might----Mrs. Potten stopped her car, got out of it, and
went behind May Dashwood and whispered in her ear.

May turned, her eyebrows very much raised, and listened to what Mrs.
Potten had to say.

Great urgency made Mrs. Potten as astute as a French detective.

"I'm quite sorry," she whispered, "to find that your Aunt Lena seems
worried about the engagement. Now why on earth, oh why, did the Warden
run himself into an engagement with a girl he doesn't really care
about?"

This question was a master-stroke. There was no getting out of this for
May Dashwood. Mrs. Potten clapped her hand over her mouth and drew in a
breath. Then she listened breathless for the answer. The answer must
either be: "But he _does_ really care about her," or something evasive.

Not only Mrs. Potten's emotional superficies but her core of flint
feared the emphatic answer, and yearned for an evasive one. What was it
to be?

May's face had suddenly blanched. Had her Aunt Lena told? No--surely
not; and yet Mrs. Potten seemed to _know_.

"How can I tell, Mrs. Potten?" said May, unsteadily. "I----"

"Evasive!" said Mrs. Potten to herself triumphantly.

"Never mind! things do happen," she said, interrupting May. "I suppose,
at any rate, he has to make the best of it, now it's done."

Mrs. Potten was afraid that she was now going too far, and she swiftly
turned the subject sideways before May had time to think out a reply.

"Tell your Aunt Lena that I expect Gwendolen, without fail,