vel), Mary protested vehemently and with tears, the only occasion of
her showing a Pennycuick spirit since renouncing the Pennycuick name.
The old maid, for her part, was enthusiastically devoted to the new
sister-in-law, whom it was her joy to pet and coddle. "I can be of use
to her," she tremblingly commended herself to her brother. "I can take
the drudgery of the housework off her, and save her in the parish."
"Well, perhaps so," said Mr Goldsworthy. And, sincerely desiring to
endear himself to his aristocratic wife, he consented to her wish.

The whole Goldsworthy family was transferred to Redford, while, on the
pretext of disinfecting it, the parsonage was painted and papered what
Deb called "decently", and its more offensive furniture replaced. Mary
was provided with a trousseau and many useful wedding presents, a
cheque from her father for 500 pounds amongst them. They did not
forgive her, but they pretended excellently that they did. Without any
pretence at all, they tried to make the best of a bad job. To this end,
they gathered their friends together as usual at Christmas. Mr
Thornycroft and the Urquharts needed no pressing; they came to see Mary
the day she returned home, and showed her the old affection without
asking questions. Mr Thornycroft's wedding presents to her were
magnificent--a complete service of silver plate and house linen of the
finest. Deb wrote to Claud: "I suppose we shall see you, as
usual?"--for he had always spent Christmas at Redford unless away on
the other side of the world. He wrote back: "I think not, this time."
He was the only defaulter.

"He will never have a chance to refuse again," said Deb fiercely, as
she tore up his note.

His absence was too marked not to provoke frequent comment, and
whenever it was alluded to in her hearing, her spine stiffened and her
head went up. It was quite evident to her family that the rift in the
lute was serious, and strange to say, it was her father, who might have
been expected to hail the signs, who was most concerned to see them. He
expostulated with her when she spoke bitterly of Billy's son, as once
he had been so ready to do himself.

"Well, my dear," said he, "I can understand it, if you can't. I
wouldn't come myself, if I was in his place, to mix-up with the sort of
thing we've got to mix up with."

"If I can mix up with it--!" quoth proud Deborah.

"Yes, yes--I know; but you must consider the silly way that he's been
reared. I do