rators, much consideration of style and effect. Brent quickly
discovered that Queenie was a young woman of artistic taste with a
natural knowledge and appreciation of colour schemes and values; Queenie
found out that Brent had a positive horror of the merely modern.
Consequently, this furnishing and decorating business took up all their
spare time: Queenie eventually spent all hers at the house,
superintending and arranging; Brent was there when he was not writing
his _Monitor_ articles or interviewing Hawthwaite. The unproductive
inquiry had broken into this domestic adventure; Brent now proposed to
go ahead with it until it was finished; then he and Queenie would
quietly get married and settle down. Hathelsborough, he remarked, might
not want him, but there in Hathelsborough he had set up his tent, and
the pegs were firmly driven in.

On the day succeeding the Local Government Board inquiry Brent and
Queenie had spent morning, afternoon, and the first part of the evening
at the house, at the head of a small gang of workmen, and had reduced at
least half of the chaos to order. As dusk grew near Brent put on his
coat and gave Queenie one of his looks which signified that there was no
answer needed to what he was about to say.

"That's enough!" said Brent. "Dog tired! Now we'll go round to the
_Chancellor_ and get the best dinner they can give us. Put on your hat!"

Queenie obeyed, readily enough: she was in that stage whereat a young
woman finds obedience the most delightful thing in the world. Brent
locked up the house, and they went away together towards the hotel. In
the old market square the lamps were just being lighted; as usual there
were groups of townsfolk gathered about High Cross and Low Cross, and
the pavements were thronged with strolling pedestrians. Something
suggested to Brent that all these folk were discussing some news of
moment; he heard excited voices; once or twice men glanced inquisitively
at Queenie and himself as they walked towards the _Chancellor_; on the
steps outside the hotel a knot of men, amongst them the landlord, were
plainly in deep debate. They became silent as Queenie and Brent passed
in, and Brent, ushering Queenie into the inner hall, turned back to
them.

"Something going?" he asked laconically.

The men looked at each other; the landlord, with a glance in Queenie's
direction, replied, lowering his voice:

"Then you haven't heard, Mr. Brent?" he said. "I thought you'd have