I'm out a good while, Bunting."

"No fear. Of course, you'll be a long time if it's your idea to see
that doctor at Ealing?"

He looked at her questioningly, and Mrs. Bunting nodded. Somehow
nodding didn't seem as bad as speaking a lie.

CHAPTER XVIII

Any ordeal is far less terrifying, far easier to meet with courage,
when it is repeated, than is even a milder experience which is
entirely novel.

Mrs. Bunting had already attended an inquest, in the character of a
witness, and it was one of the few happenings of her life which was
sharply etched against the somewhat blurred screen of her memory.

In a country house where the then Ellen Green had been staying for
a fortnight with her elderly mistress, there had occurred one of
those sudden, pitiful tragedies which occasionally destroy the
serenity, the apparent decorum, of a large, respectable household.

The under-housemaid, a pretty, happy-natured girl, had drowned
herself for love of the footman, who had given his sweetheart cause
for bitter jealousy. The girl had chosen to speak of her troubles
to the strange lady's maid rather than to her own fellow-servants,
and it was during the conversation the two women had had together
that the girl had threatened to take her own life.

As Mrs. Bunting put on her outdoor clothes, preparatory to going
out, she recalled very clearly all the details of that dreadful
affair, and of the part she herself had unwillingly played in it.

She visualised the country inn where the inquest on that poor,
unfortunate creature had been held.

The butler had escorted her from the Hall, for he also was to give
evidence, and as they came up there had been a look of cheerful
animation about the inn yard; people coming and going, many women
as well as men, village folk, among whom the dead girl's fate had
aroused a great deal of interest, and the kind of horror which those
who live on a dull countryside welcome rather than avoid.

Everyone there had been particularly nice and polite to her, to
Ellen Green; there had been a time of waiting in a room upstairs in
the old inn, and the witnesses had been accommodated, not only with
chairs, but with cake and wine.

She remembered how she had dreaded being a witness, how she had
felt as if she would like to run away from her nice, easy place,
rather than have to get up and tell the little that she knew of the
sad business.

But it had not been so very dreadful after all. The coroner h