depends."

"My dear! With Sir Spencer Derrick here, and the Openshaws!"

"I'll be back if I can. Can't say more than that! Good-bye!" And the
Countess had to be content. The story is rather sorry for her, for it
_is_ a bore to have a lot of guests on one's hands, without due family
support.

* * * * *

The grey mare's long stride left John Costrell's fat cob a mile behind,
in less than two. Her hoofs made music on the hard road for another two,
and then were _assourdi_ by a swansdown coverlid of large snowflakes
that disappointed the day's hopes of being fine, and made her sulky with
the sun, extinguishing his light. The gig drew up at Strides Cottage in
a whitening world, and Tom Kettering had to button up the seats under
their oilskin passenger-cases, in anticipation of a long wait.

But Tom had not a long wait, for in a quarter of an hour after her young
ladyship had vanished into Strides Cottage, she returned, telling him
she was going to be late, and should not want him. He might drive back
to the Towers, and--stop a minute!--might give this card to her mother.
She scribbled on one of her own cards that she would not be back to
lunch, and told Tom he might come again about five. Tom touched his hat
as a warrior might have touched his sword-hilt.

Widow Thrale, who had accompanied Gwen, and returned with her into the
house, was the very ghost of her past self of yesterday morning.
Twenty-four hours ago she looked less than her real age by ten years;
now she had overpassed it by half that time at least. So said to Tom
Kettering a young woman with a sharp manner, whom he picked up and gave
a lift to on his way back. Tom's taciturnity abated in conversation with
Mrs. Lamprey, and he really seemed to come out of his Trappist seclusion
to hear what she had to tell about this mystery at the Cottage. She had
plenty, founded on conversations between the doctor and his sister,
whose housekeeper you will remember she was.

"Why--I'd only just left Widow Thrale when you drove past. Your aunt she
stayed till ever so late last night,"--Tom was Mrs. Solmes's
nephew--"and went home with Carrier Brantock. Didn't you see her?"

"Just for a word, this morning. She hadn't so much to tell as you'd
think. But it come to this--that this old Goody Prichard's own sister to
Granny Marrable. Got lost in Australia somehow. Anyhow, she's there now,
at the Cottage. No getting out o' that! Only what bother