I did. I told
her the good news. She was delighted."

He did not inform Septimus that, for all her delight, Zora had been
somewhat sceptical. She loved Septimus, she admitted, but his effectuality
in any sphere of human endeavor was unimaginable. Could anything good come
out of Nazareth?

About half an hour later the goddess herself arrived, shown in by
Wiggleswick, who had been snatching the pipe of the over-driven by the
front-gate. She looked flushed, resolute, indignant, and, on seeing Sypher,
she paused for a second on the threshold. Then she entered. Sypher took up
his hat and stick.

"No, no. You had better stay. You may help us. I suppose you know all
about it."

Septimus's heart sank. He knew what "it" meant.

"Yes, Sypher knows. I told him."

"But why didn't you tell me, dear Septimus, instead of letting me hear of
it from mother and Cousin Jane? I don't think it was loyal to me."

"I forgot," said Septimus in desperation. "You see, I sometimes remember it
and sometimes forget it. I'm not used to getting married. Wiggleswick has
been married several times. He was giving me a lot of advice this morning."

"Anyhow, it's true?" asked Zora, disregarding Wiggleswick.

"Oh, yes! You see, my ungovernable temper--"

"Your what?"

It was no use. On receiving the announcement she looked just as he had
expected her to look. He tried to stammer out his catalogue of infamies,
but failed. She burst out laughing, and Sypher, who knew all and was
anxiously wondering how to save the situation, laughed too.

"My poor, dear Septimus," she said kindly, "I don't believe a word of it.
The woman who couldn't get on with you must be a virago. I don't care
whether she's my own sister or not, she is treating you abominably."

"But, indeed she's not," pleaded poor Septimus. "We're the best of friends.
I really want to live like this. I do. I can't live without Wiggleswick.
See how cosy and comfortable he makes me."

Zora looked round, and the cosiness and comfort made her gasp. Cobwebs hung
from the old oak beams across the ceiling; a day or two's ashes defiled the
grate; the windows were splashed with mud and rain. There were no
curtains. Her finger drawn along the green baize table-cloth revealed the
dust. A pair of silver candlesticks on the mantelpiece were stained an
iridescent brown. The mirror was fly-blown. In the corner of the room a
tray held the remains of the last meal, and a plate containing broken food
had