taking of its clay, some reflex
ghost of its rather remarkable features, was even a little amused at
Sheila.

She returned in a moment, and stood in profile in the doorway. 'Will you
come down?' she remarked distantly.

'One moment, Sheila,' Lawford began miserably. 'Before we take this
irrevocable step, a step I implore you to postpone awhile--for what
comes, I suppose, may go--what precisely have you told the vicar? I must
in fairness know that.'

'In fairness,' she began ironically, and suddenly broke off. Her husband
had turned the flame of the lamp low down in the vacant room behind
them; the corridor was lit obscurely by the chandelier far down in the
hall below. A faint, inexplicable dread fell softly and coldly on her
heart. 'Have you no trust in me?' she murmured a little bitterly. 'I
have simply told him the truth.'

They softly descended the stairs; she first, the dark figure following
close behind her.

CHAPTER THREE

Mr Bethany sat awaiting them in the dining-room, a large,
heavily-furnished room with a great benign looking-glass on the
mantelpiece, a marble clock, and with rich old damask curtains. Fleecy
silver hair was all that was visible of their visitor when they entered.
But Mr Bethany rose out of his chair when he heard them, and with a
little jerk, turned sharply round. Thus it was that the gold-spectacled
vicar and Lawford first confronted each other, the one brightly
illuminated, the other framed in the gloom of the doorway. Mr Bethany's
first scrutiny was timid and courteous, but beneath it he tried to be
keen, and himself hastened round the table almost at a trot, to obtain,
as delicately as possible, a closer view. But Lawford, having shut
the door behind him, had gone straight to the fire and seated himself,
leaning his face in his hands. Mr Bethany smiled faintly, waved his hand
almost as if in blessing, but certainly in peace, and tapped Mrs Lawford
into the chair upon the other side. But he himself remained standing.

'Mrs Lawford has, I declare, been telling family secrets,' he began,
and paused, peering. But there, you will forgive an old friend's
intrusion--this little confidence about a change, my dear fellow--about
a ramble and a change?' He sat down, put up his kind little puckered
face and peered again at Lawford, and then very hastily at his wife.
But all her attention was centred on the bowed figure opposite to her.
Lawford responded to this cautious advance without r