nna, sitting up there in her big armchair, made
him feel extremely guilty, and he was relieved when she said mildly: "You
run along and give it to her, then."

He found his mother in his father's study, and they both stopped abruptly
when he came in. Timmy supposed, rightly, that they had been speaking of
Dolly and her engagement.

Janet took the roll of paper from her boy and slipped off the band
absently: "What's this?" she exclaimed. And then, "How stupid of me! I
remember now." She turned to her husband. "It's an account of the inquest
held on Colonel Crofton. What a tremendous long thing! I shall have to
put it aside till after lunch."

She did, however, read through Miss Pendarth's letter.

"Oh! John," she said, smiling, "this letter is _too_ funny! Olivia
Pendarth may be a good friend, but she's certainly a good hater. She
simply loathes Mrs. Crofton." Then, deliberately, she went over to the
fireplace and, lighting a match, set fire to the letter.

Timmy watched the big sheet of paper curling up in the flame. He was glad
indeed that he had read the letter before it was burnt, but he made up
his mind that when he was a grown-up man, he also would burn any letter
that he thought the writer would prefer destroyed. In a way Janet was her
son's great exemplar, but he was apt to postpone following the example he
admired.

CHAPTER XXVII

It was after seven, on the evening of that same Sunday, that Enid
Crofton, after having spent the whole day in her bedroom, came down to
her pretty, cheerful, little sitting-room.

She had returned from London in an anxious, nervous, strung-up frame of
mind. For the first time in her life she did not know what it was she
really wanted, or rather she was uncertain as to what it would be best
for her to do.

The thought of seeing Jack Tosswill, of having to fence and flirt with
him in her present disturbed state of mind, had been intolerable. That
was the real reason why she had stayed upstairs all to-day. He had called
three times, and the third time he had brought with him a letter even
more passionately loving, while also even more angry and hurt in tone,
than the one which she had received from him the day before.

As she read this second epistle she had told herself, with something like
rage, that it was not her fault that what she had intended should be a
harmless flirtation had caused such havoc. Still, deep in her heart she
was well aware that but for the havo