THE GOSSIP SHOP
 
 BY J. E. BUCKROSE 
 
 THE MATCHMAKERS 
 THE ROUND-ABOUT 
 SPRAY ON THE WINDOWS 
 GAY MORNING 
 BECAUSE OF JANE 
 A BACHELOR'S COMEDY 
 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 NEW YORK
 
 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 BY 
 
 J. E. BUCKROSE \'fP:&W 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE MATCHMAKERS, 
 
 ETC 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
 
 COPYRIGHT, 117, 
 BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAG 
 
 I. CHUBB'S CAB 9 
 
 II. ON THE RYEPORD ROAD 16 
 
 III. MRS. CHUBB 24 
 
 IV. Miss AMELIA'S GHOST 30 
 
 V. A VISITOR OF IMPORTANCE 42 
 
 VI. CRANBIE'S SALE 54 
 
 VII. STRANGERS 64 
 
 VIII. LADIES IN A CHAR-A-BANC 78 
 
 IX. DELIA'S PART 95 
 
 X. A COUNTRY WALK 106 
 
 XI. PAULINE SEES A PAGEANT 120 
 
 XII. PAULINE INTERVENES 133 
 
 XIII. THE MEETING 146 
 
 XIV. As LUCK WOULD HAVE IT 159 
 
 XV. MORE NEWS 172 
 
 XVI. THE WHITE BISONS 183 
 
 XVII. THE DAY AFTER . 197 
 
 XVIII. THE TENNIS CLUB 213 
 
 XIX. THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM 228 
 
 2136498
 
 ri CONTENTS 
 
 OHAPTHR PAG1 
 
 JCX. FAREWELL! 244 
 
 XXI. WINTER-TIME 257 
 
 XXII. BAD NEWS 272 
 
 XXIII. THE ADVENTURE OF MRS. CHUBB 279 
 
 XXIV. LORD SOUTHWATER IN A SIDE STREET .... 293 
 XXV. THE GREAT BAZAAB , 306
 
 THE GOSSIP SHOP
 
 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 CHUBB 'S CAB 
 
 T3I 7ENDLEBURY lies in the midst of undulating 
 V V meadows which are almost always brightly green on 
 account of the heavy rainfall. People who have lived 
 there when they were young look back at the red roofs 
 and tall church spire of the little town through a delicate 
 curtain of fine showers, but those who still remain there 
 consider it quite a dry place, or, if not exactly dry, no 
 wetter than its neighbours. 
 
 Pauline Westcott, who was half an inhabitant and half 
 a stranger, believed that this continuous, soft-falling mois- 
 ture worked upon every one there a sort of Wendlebury 
 change; so that the town and people, and even the very 
 cats and dogs, were in pleasant harmony. But she re- 
 mained unaware how far this process had gone in her own 
 case, or she would have laughed at herself for becoming 
 quite excited about the non-arrival of Chubb 's cab. 
 
 All her early girlhood had been spent in a London office, 
 where she determined to excel and did excel, chaining her 
 spirit to her desk and following generally the bright exam- 
 ple of the Will o' the Wisp that would be a light outside 
 a pork-butcher's shop because it had developed a con- 
 science and wanted to be of some real, practical use in the 
 world. 
 
 This Will o' the Wisp, as everybody knows, gradually 
 nickered out in spite of excellent intentions, until the pork- 
 butcher complained to the Gas Company and the Gas Com- 
 
 9
 
 10 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 pany sent a mystified plumber and mutual recriminations 
 followed which unsettled the pork-butcher's mind and the 
 sausage supply of many innocent citizens; the Will o' 
 the "Wisp, meanwhile, returning to its native swamp very 
 disheartened, with the information that some lights can 
 only shine in quiet places. 
 
 The part of the mystified plumber, in Pauline's case, 
 was taken by the doctor, who grew tired of prescribing 
 medicines which did no good and packed his patient oft 3 
 to Aunt Dickson in Wendlebury for complete rest and 
 change. Pauline was a small, pale, dark-eyed girl, with 
 a slim figure and beautiful, long-fingered hands which 
 seemed oddly more alive than those of other people, though 
 she very seldom gesticulated: and in the weeks following 
 her first arrival she constantly alarmed Aunt Dickson by 
 seeming likely to flicker out altogether. It was Eva, the 
 maid of the little establishment, who first roused the in- 
 valid from the state of listless apathy into which she had 
 fallen. 
 
 The occasion was a bleak morning in January, when 
 Pauline lay in bed languidly munching her carefully pre- 
 pared breakfast as if it were so much sawdust, while Eva 
 looked on with growing annoyance and an acute toothache. 
 It was this last which gave her the impetus to blurt out, 
 finally 
 
 "I could die in a fog if I wanted to! Anybody could! 
 It's as easy as kiss your hand." 
 
 "You don't know how miserable I feel," sighed Pauline. 
 
 "I dessay not," replied Eva. "Though I was a seven 
 months' child, and one of ten, and never got no schooling 
 because of being always bad with every measle and cold 
 that came to the village." She paused to draw breath. 
 "Illness tried to down me, and ignorance tried to down 
 me, and poorness tried to down me ; but Miss I wouldn 't 
 be downed!" 
 
 Pauline smiled at the odd little figure with the long 
 features and bird-like glance, but tears came into her eyes
 
 CHUBB 'S CAB 11 
 
 as well, because she was still at that stage of extreme 
 weakness when smiles and tears seem to be uncomfortably 
 joined together somewhere inside, and are not to be sep- 
 arated by the person most concerned. 
 
 "So you think I am easily 'downed'?" was all she said, 
 however; still, from that time she began to get better, and 
 now her long illness was only an unpleasant memory 
 which caused her to sigh with wonder every now and 
 again: "How could I have been such a jellyfish!" 
 
 At this moment, standing in her grey gown before the 
 straight, high window, she still wore a deceptive appear- 
 ance of fragility which her clear skin and fresh voice 
 contradicted, but which caused Aunt Dickson to insist on 
 her waiting for the cab which had been engaged to take 
 sixteen ladies of Wendlebury, in relays, to a card-party 
 at the house of the Misses Pritchard. 
 
 It must be explained that four good cabs existed in 
 the place, but three of them were owned by the Bowling 
 Green Inn and were in great request for funerals, wed- 
 dings and such-like occasions when a farmer's dog-cart 
 was neither dignified nor fitting. On this particular after- 
 noon, the cabs gave lustre to a wedding some miles away, 
 so the sixteen ladies who had "accepted with pleasure" 
 were entirely dependant on Chubb to convey them through 
 the steadily pouring rain. 
 
 "Dear, dear!" said Aunt Dickson. "Chubb is very 
 late." And as she spoke she touched a metal tortoise 
 near her, the head of which animal rang an electric bell 
 upstairs while the tail communicated with the kitchen, so 
 that Aunt Dickson, in spite of her lameness, was enabled 
 to keep her finger on the pulse of the daily life. This was 
 a very good thing, because Aunt Dickson was so tremen- 
 dously interested in life. 
 
 "You ordered Chubb, Eva?" she said when the maid 
 appeared. 
 
 "Of course I did, 'm," said Eva. "I went out a' pur- 
 pose."
 
 12 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Pauline laughed and came forward from the window. 
 Wheels sounded outside. "Here is Chubb!" she said. 
 
 "Late again!" called Aunt Dickson, in her strong, 
 pleasant voice. 
 
 "Right by church clock . . . wet through . . . wheezin' 
 like a steam engine," bawled Chubb from the doorway. 
 "Shouldn't ha' turned out if it hadn't been for incon- 
 veniencing you, 'm." 
 
 Instantly, Aunt Diekson's big, red face puckered with 
 concern. 
 
 "Come in! Come in!" she called. "Eva, give him a 
 cup of hot tea." 
 
 "What '11 the ladies say?" asked Chubb. 
 
 "Oh, they won't mind," said Aunt Dickson comfort- 
 ably; for somebody else being kept waiting is so entirely 
 different. ' ' So long as your horse will stand ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Stand ? ' ' said Chubb. ' ' She 'd grow there before she 'd 
 move: I've trained her." 
 
 Then he joined Eva in the kitchen, ordering her rather 
 peremptorily to put more milk in his cup. 
 
 "Would you tek me for a fire-eater?" he said. 
 
 "I wouldn't tek you for a thousand million pounds," 
 cackled Eva, glad of this opportunity of scoring off an old 
 enemy. 
 
 "That isn't funny and it isn't sense," said Chubb. 
 ' ' But one thing I do know : you tried your best to get old 
 Sammy Briggs that hasn't but one arm and 
 
 Suddenly the electric tortoise-bell whizzed through the 
 house. Pauline came running downstairs and Eva and 
 Chubb hastened out of the kitchen. 
 
 " Chubb !" shouted Aunt Dickson. "I heard wheels. I 
 think your horse has bolted." 
 
 ' ' Never ! I '11 tek my oath, ' ' panted Chubb, flinging open 
 the front door. 
 
 For a moment he stood paralysed, gazing out into the 
 blank and windswept street, then he started to run at an 
 uneven jog-trot pace in the direction of the Ryeford
 
 CHUBB 'S CAB 13 
 
 Road, whence came faint echoes of a four-wheeled cab 
 being driven furiously. 
 
 Fifteen ladies looked out from eight narrow, red houses 
 which all had gleaming knockers, white doorsteps, and an 
 air of having behaved always exactly as houses should. 
 The watchers, who wore best dresses which would spoil in 
 such a downpour, compared the room clock with the 
 kitchen clock and both with the chimes from the church 
 spire like so many marionettes moved by a common string, 
 because it is not thought to be very refined to have more 
 than one best dress in Wendlebury, and this cannot, of 
 course, be exposed to unnecessary danger. 
 
 But if the intending guests were feeling agitated, that 
 word is too weak to describe the sensations of the Misses 
 Pritchard, who sat among little gleaming card-tables 
 spread with cards and chocolate drops in blue china sau- 
 cers, and endured tortures of suspense. 
 
 "Four o'clock! And they were asked for three-thirty. 
 What can have happened?" sighed Miss Amelia. 
 
 "I expect you wrote the invitations incorrectly," 
 snapped Miss Harriet. "You are so careless. Remember 
 how you sent a laundry list in mistake for a missionary 
 leaflet to the Vicar. Anything might be done by a person 
 who could make such a mistake as that." 
 
 "It was printed on the same kind of paper; and, after 
 all, the laundries always abbreviate," replied Miss Amelia, 
 who was ready to cry with disappointment and fatigue, 
 it being no light matter to give a party in Wendlebury, 
 where every householder can bake cakes such as London 
 and Paris and New York chefs may compose for the an- 
 gels when they go to heaven. 
 
 Another matter also weighed on the hostesses' minds 
 which they had agreed not to mention, or even to think of, 
 for the duration of the party ; but it was this which made 
 them start violently when the door burst open.
 
 14 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "Oh!" they squealed simultaneously. Then on another 
 note: "You, Pauline?" 
 
 "Forgive my rushing in like this," said Pauline, "but 
 I came along the moment the rain abated a little ; I thought 
 you would be wondering what had happened." 
 
 Miss Harriet rose, something with the air of a Mrs. 
 Siddons. 
 
 "I kne^T it! They would burn an oil stove in the hall 
 despite my repeated warnings. The Vicarage is on fire at 
 last." 
 
 "No, no," said Pauline. " It is only Chubb 's cab. Run 
 away. . . . Chubb after it." 
 
 "Goodness!" said Miss Amelia. 
 
 "Oh, dear!" said Pauline, glancing round at the cards 
 and chocolate drops. "I am so sorry; it is dreadfully dis- 
 appointing after all your preparations." 
 
 "Not at all," said Miss Harriet, drawing herself up. 
 "A little card-party is neither here nor there. A mere 
 bagatelle." 
 
 Miss Amelia's lower jaw dropped, then she caught her 
 sister's eye, pursed her lips and agreed hastily 
 
 "Of course ... a mere bagatelle." 
 
 But there was something in it all which touched Pauline, 
 and perhaps may have appealed to the Clerk of the 
 Weather, for he is an official with the capricious uncer- 
 tainty of an official, but one who also has a love of prac- 
 tical jokes which shows him to be very human. Anyway, 
 he stopped the rain just at that moment, and sent a few 
 rays of pale sunshine dancing down "Wendlebury streets. 
 Then eight front doors burst open like flowers at the ap- 
 proach of spring, and fifteen ladies shimmered forth in silk 
 and grenadine and satin merveilleux, picking their way 
 between puddles which reflected every delicate hue of grey 
 and blue and old silver from the February sky above. 
 
 As the ladies met outside the Miss Pritchards' house 
 they stood in a group with faces bent forward, talking 
 eagerly, and the gay twitter of question and answer lasted
 
 CHUBB 'S CAB 15 
 
 until they were all safely seated by the little tea-tables, 
 eating yellow queen cakes and drinking tea from beauti- 
 ful old green-and-white Rockingham china. Continuously 
 through the lively hum of conversation could be heard 
 Miss Amelia's company: "Only fancy that!" and Miss 
 Harriet's "How very interesting!" Every now and then, 
 giving tone to the whole, came the Honourable Mrs. Dela- 
 mere's important: "As I was saying to my brother-in- 
 law, Lord South water ' ' ; while the young laughter of. the 
 doctor's daughter and of Pauline ran freshly through the 
 talk like the sound of Wendlebury beck through the traf- 
 fic of market day. 
 
 It was clear now that the party had gained an added 
 brilliance from what at first appeared a misfortune, and 
 as Miss Amelia looked round at the little tables she won- 
 dered how any one could possibly call "Wendlebury a dull 
 place.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ON THE ETEFORD ROAD 
 
 cab jolted along the Ryeford Road at such 
 an incredible pace that the sparrows, who knew it 
 well, twittered amazement to each other in the hedgerows, 
 but more surprised still was Chubb 's mare, who, like many 
 middle-aged ladies, having got into a fixed groove of think- 
 ing she couldn't, was tremendously astonished to find out 
 that she after all could. 
 
 She wondered vaguely through her amaze, as she thus 
 cantered along after the fashion of her vanished youth, 
 what on earth had happened to Chubb. Either he was 
 drunk, which seemed improbable because he had long been 
 a strict teetotaler, or he had suffered some violent change 
 of character. It never occurred to her that another man 
 could be on the box, for she was a conservative female and 
 nobody else had occupied that position within her recollec- 
 tion. 
 
 Finally, however, she felt herself pulled up near a stone 
 heap, and a voice absolutely unlike Chubb 's called out 
 sternly: "Stan' still!" So she moved her head round as 
 far as she could, and fixed a mild, reproachful eye on the 
 owner of the voice, saying without words that she might 
 have known it was not her Chubb. 
 
 "Stan 5 still!" repeated the young man who had been 
 driving. Then he turned to the stone-heap : "She'll stand 
 all right, Delamere, if you think you can get in?" 
 
 A tall, thin man in a big overcoat rose with some diffi- 
 culty, but he managed to give a feeble laugh at the sight 
 of the cab. 
 
 16
 
 ON THE RYEFORD ROAD 17 
 
 "That's never Chubb 's cab?" he said. "Lord! Unwin, 
 how the sun stands still in Wendlebury ! ' ' 
 
 "Yes," said Unwin. "Let me help you. That all 
 right?" 
 
 Delamere suppressed a groan and leaned back on the 
 fusty cushions. "Quite right, thanks." 
 
 "Now I'll hop on the box and drive as carefully as I 
 can," said Unwin. "Gee-up!" And the mare moved on 
 again, in her usual slow flounder this time, along the quiet 
 road. Delamere at first lay back with closed eyes, but 
 after a while he opened them and looked round at the 
 green fields on either side like an exile seeing home after 
 long years away. The tenderness for what is left. . . . 
 regret for what is gone ... an aching joy like no other on 
 earth . . . though all men cannot feel this joy, any more 
 than all can feel true love. 
 
 The cab stopped before the Green Dragon Inn and 
 Unwin opened the door. 
 
 "Here we are, Delamere." 
 
 ' ' Hush, man ! ' ' said the invalid, glancing quickly round. 
 "I gave my name as Johnson when I came here yesterday. 
 I don't think the family . . . you understand?" 
 
 ' ' What rot ! ' ' said Unwin, flushing uncomfortably. 
 "That's all forgotten. Mrs. Delamere would be delighted 
 to see you, of course." 
 
 ' ' I won 't put her to the test, ' ' gasped Delamere, lean- 
 ing heavily on Unwin as he got out of the cab. 
 
 But ten minutes later he had removed his damp clothes 
 and was established comfortably enough on the sofa by the 
 fireside. 
 
 "Morbid idea, wasn't it?" he said with a smile: "this 
 craving to come home to die. I walked too far this after- 
 noon trying to see Wendlebury again with the rain driving 
 across it. ... You know how it does? That was why you 
 found me in a dead faint on a stone-heap." 
 
 "Well, I must own you gave me a turn," said Unwin. 
 "I quite thought you were dying, and when you came
 
 18 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 I 
 round you would not let me fetch a doctor or anything. 
 
 All you would say was : ' Get me back to the Green Dragon, 
 somehow.' " f 
 
 "Well," said Delamere, in his husky voice, "I don't 
 mind telling you now that I thought I was dying too. A 
 man with the remnant of one lung has no business to be 
 wandering about wet roads, of course. It was awfully 
 good of you to do just the one thing that was any use, 
 though how you did it, I don't know. Did you brain 
 Chubb with his own whip and drive on over his prostrate 
 body? But, no, you couldn't. That would have upset the 
 cab, unless Chubb has grown much thinner." 
 
 He spoke now rather quickly and his cheeks burned. 
 
 "I found the cab standing outside Mrs. Dickson's while 
 Chubb regaled himself inside," said Unwin. Then he 
 paused and continued in a more earnest tone : ' ' Look here, 
 Delamere, this is all nonsense. What's done, is done. You 
 have kept out of the way in Australia for years and the 
 whole blessed business is forgotten. Why hide away in 
 this pokey pub as if you 'd only come a mucker yesterday ? 
 I tell you, life's too short. Mrs. Delamere and Lord 
 Southwater would be awfully grieved if they knew about 
 it." 
 
 "My sister-in-law and my estimable brother would be 
 more grieved still if they had to welcome the prodigal 
 home, and duty compelled them to kill the fatted . . . 
 calves' foot jelly." Delamere paused to take breath, and 
 added with decision : ' ' No, Unwin. You found me out by 
 accident. You must respect my secret." 
 
 "But some one will certainly recognise you, as I did," 
 argued Unwin. 
 
 "I think not. The people of the inn have come here 
 since my day, and I shall be very careful. Besides, you 
 would not have recognised me but for the name on the 
 letter." 
 
 ' ' It lay by your side. I thought you were dying. I had 
 to find out what to do with you," apologised Unwin.
 
 ON THE RYEFORD ROAD 19 
 
 "Oh, quite right, of course," said Delamere. "I only 
 wanted to point out that I may easily stay here unde- 
 tected. As for the letter ... I suppose you saw it was 
 the last one I ever got from my mother? Poor sort of 
 sentimentality, wasn't it? To read her letter, and look 
 down at her old house, after breaking her heart, eh?" 
 
 Unwin turned to the window. 
 
 "She'll she'll be glad if she knows, you' know," he 
 blurted out awkwardly at last. 
 
 For the first time Delamere 's look of cynical weariness 
 changed a little. 
 
 "You're a kind chap, Unwin," he said. "If I believed 
 in Providence, I might think He'd sent you to give me a 
 lift over this last stile. But I can't I've seen too much." 
 He coughed violently, then added in a different tone : " So 
 it's agreed? You keep the secret you chanced to discovert 
 while I was lying unconscious?" 
 
 ' ' If you put it in that way, I have no alternative, ' ' said 
 Unwin gravely. "And now I must be returning Chubb 's 
 cab or there '11 be a hue-and-cry after it. I stole it from an 
 afternoon party." 
 
 "Ah! those parties!" said Delamere. "The cream and 
 the little cakes and the best china ... all going on just 
 the same. What a blessed sense of permanence it gives 
 one to come back here, Unwin! I s'pose that was what 
 drew me ... after all the buffeting ..." He coughed 
 again and held out his hand. ' ' Good-bye. Thank you for 
 all you have done. You'll look me up sometimes?" 
 
 "That's all right. Of course I will," said Unwin. 
 "Good-bye!" 
 
 Thus the two men parted, covering their emotion with 
 that cloak of light indifference which foreigners find so 
 strange, but which has grown to be a fashion with a cer- 
 tain type of Englishman as inevitable as wearing trousers. 
 
 Unwin passed the landlord of the inn in going through 
 the doorway, and the man gave him a rather surprised 
 greeting.
 
 20 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "Driving Chub's cab yourself, sir?" 
 
 "Yes. Chubb 's busy," said Unwin, with truth, jumping 
 on the box. 
 
 "Well, the mare's a good 'un to stand, however," said 
 the landlord, and at this tribute the patient animal flicked 
 her tail gently, as one who murmurs: "You see, even an 
 outsider is forced to do me justice." This attitude im- 
 pressed Unwin, causing him to remark pleasantly 
 
 "Gee-up, Griselda." 
 
 So the cab trundled away. down the road, the landlord 
 staring after it. That burst of sunshine which illuminated 
 the streets of Wendlebury shone also on Unwin 's blunt, 
 honest features. He whistled as he went, his lithe young 
 figure perched easily in the midst of Chubb 's ample seat- 
 ing accommodation ; and he noted a jocund air of spring- 
 on-the-way about the fields and hedges. Everything start- 
 ing afresh, he thought, and a jolly time coming. "What a 
 
 pity human beings couldn't Poor Delamere, going 
 
 out for ever in a roadside pub. . . . But perhaps he 
 wouldn't. . . . Perhaps spring went all through creation 
 and didn't just stop at trees and things. . . . 
 
 He changed his tune and whistled meditatively: "John 
 Brown's body is a-mouldering in the grave, But his soul 
 goes marching on." Then he saw Chubb come panting 
 round the next corner. 
 
 "Well, Chubb!" he called out agreeably. "Here we 
 Are!" 
 
 Chubb, out of breath, incommoded by a heavy overcoat 
 And unused to pedestrian exercise, was naturally outraged. 
 
 " 'Well, Chubb!' " he bellowed. "I'll 'Well, Chubb!' 
 you. Stealing my cab." 
 
 " I 'm bringing it back. On my soul and honour, I am, ' ' 
 said Unwin. 
 
 "I should have gone to the police, only I heard my cab 
 turn down this road. I should know the sound anywheres," 
 panted Chubb, catching at the bridle. 
 
 Unwin jumped down and patted the mare with affection.
 
 ON THE EYEFORD ROAD 21 
 
 "T don't wonder," he responded cordially. "If Gri- 
 selda were mine, I should recognise the fall of her fairy 
 feet among a million." 
 
 Chubb turned from crimson to purple. 
 
 "Fairy feet be condemned ! " he said. "I know the mare 
 would never run away by herself." 
 
 "You were right to keep your fajth in Griselda," said 
 Unwin. "She did not elope. She never would have 
 eloped. She was forcibly abducted." 
 
 Chubb replied, but not in terms to be reproduced, that 
 his mare was named Brown Bess. "First you steal my 
 cab . . . then you insult me. ..." And he concluded 
 that it was a burning shame to treat a man of full habit 
 as he had been "tret." 
 
 Unwin saw this now his sense of fun ceased to have the 
 upper hand, and he was seized with compunction. 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry, Chubb," he said. "I know it has 
 caused you a lot of bother." 
 
 "Then what did you do it for?" said Chubb, beginning 
 to simmer down a little. 
 
 "Oh, for for a joke," said Unwin, seizing on an excuse 
 which Chubb might believe. 
 
 "Joking," said Chubb, "has been the ruin of many a 
 better man than you, Mr. Unwin. Should I be looked up 
 to as I am if I joked about the place same as you do? Of 
 course I shouldn't. And them as makes jokes has to pay 
 for them. Heavy, they has to pay." 
 
 Unwin felt in his pocket and held out a pound. 
 
 "Will that do?" 
 
 "I suppose so," said Chubb, taking it and mounting' 
 the box. "Now I have to go and fetch all them ladies 
 home. And what am I to say to them, hey? Do you ex- 
 pect I can pass all this off with a joke to them?'' 
 
 "Well, I really should if I were you, Chubb," said Un- 
 win, considering the matter carefully. ' ' Much easier than, 
 going into a lot of explanations, you know."
 
 22 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "And what joke should you em-ploy, sir?" said Chubb 
 with heavy irony. r< I think I see myself and Miss Har- 
 riet and Miss Amelia and Mrs. Delamere Oh, I 
 
 think I see myself joking." 
 
 Unwin brought out another pound. He was not a gold 
 mine, but it had to be. "I particularly don't want any 
 one to know that I took the cab, Chubb, ' ' he said. 
 
 "But what am I to say?" demanded Chubb. 
 
 "Why, simply that your mare ran away," said Unwin. 
 "No harm in that!" 
 
 At this moment Griselda turned her meek head and 
 blinked once at Chubb. It was enough. The slavish devo- 
 tion of a lifetime had found its due reward. 
 
 "No!" exclaimed Chubb. "That I will not say. Not 
 for no money!" 
 
 "But we simply must think of something," urged Un- 
 win. So Chubb thought, breathing hard through his nose. 
 Finally he was delivered of an idea. 
 
 "I dessay," he announced, "that I could remark I 
 caught my cab on the Eyeford Road. That's true. And 
 not a word against anybody. And yet it tells nothing. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Chubb, ' ' said Unwin, ' ' why are you not a Prime Min- 
 ister? That is excellent indeed." 
 
 Thus they parted, but at the corner Chubb leaned over 
 the side of the cab, so that his red face shone round the 
 edge of it like a rising sun, and called out wheezily 
 
 "Caught her on the Ryeford Road! Ho! ho! Caught 
 her on the Ryeford Road!" 
 
 For he was enjoying the exquisite, primeval flavour of 
 his first joke. 
 
 After a time Unwin followed the cab into Wendlebury; 
 and just as he passed the Miss Pritchards' house a little 
 bevy of ladies stepped forth into the pleasant evening. As 
 the young man approached, they all turned to him, smiling 
 and bowing. He thought how charming Pauline West- 
 cott looked in that pale light, and how those ladies in
 
 ON THE RYEFORD ROAD 23 
 
 their best dresses seemed a natural part of the place and 
 hour. 
 
 Then he passed on, very pleased with the way in which 
 he had managed the affair of Chubb 's cab, but forgetting 
 all about Mrs. Chubb.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 MRS. CHUBB 
 
 MRS. CHUBB was a pale, moon-faced woman with a 
 sharp elbow, very red hands, and an expression re- 
 sembling that of Griselda; she also had the same attitude 
 towards Chubb. 
 
 "Now," she said, handing a steaming plate of tripe and 
 onions to her lord; "how's that?" 
 
 He tasted it with the air of a tea-taster sampling a fresh 
 consignment, his wife eyeing him anxiously the while. 
 
 "Too salt!" he pronounced. 
 
 Mrs. Chubb rubbed her bony hands together triumph- 
 antly. 
 
 "None in," she said. 
 
 "Then," he said, turning upon her, "there ought to be. 
 Whoever heard of anybody cooking tripe without salt? 
 I knew there was something wrong." 
 
 "But it eats all right otherways?" she asked. "I tried 
 a bit and it was as tender as chicken." 
 
 "You women are always eating," replied Chubb. "A 
 curran' here, a lump o' sugar there and then saying af 
 meal-times you aren't hungry!" 
 
 "Oh, yes, we get plenty," said Mrs. Chubb, who cer- 
 tainly did not look over-fed. "Trust us for that. Now, 
 here's the end of cheese toasted up to f oiler. Tastier-like 
 than cold, isn't it?" 
 
 "Sits heavier afterwards," said Chubb. "However, 
 here goes!" And eating with a relish he was unable to 
 conceal, he continued, "My word! You may be thankful 
 
 24
 
 MRS. CHUBB 25 
 
 to have a man that sits at home instead of gadding about 
 o' nights Lke most do." 
 
 ''I am thankful, Chubb," said Mrs. Chubb fervently. 
 "Here's your pipe, and now I'll poke up the fire." 
 
 So hie sat down in his armchair; the clock ticked cheer- 
 fully; everything which could shine, shone; the purring 
 of the cat mingled with a gentle sound of crockery being 
 washed up at the sink. Mr. Chubb gradually forgave Mrs. 
 Chubb for not having provided him with anything to for- 
 give. 
 
 "Look here," he said, holding out two sovereigns on 
 his palm. "What do you think to that, over and above 
 a day's takings, eh?" 
 
 Mrs. Chubb stared at the money for a moment without 
 speaking; then she said in a whisper 
 
 "Chubb, you haven't done anything wrong?" 
 
 "Did you ever know me do anything wrong?" retorted 
 Chubb indignantly. 
 
 "No, no, Chubby," deprecated Mrs. Chubb. "But it 
 aeems such a lot extra. How did you make it?" 
 
 Mr. Chubb began to heave as he had done on the cab 
 at the bend of the Ryeford Road, and his wife's round 
 eyes distended still further. 
 
 ' ' Ho ! ho ! " he laughed, with rather a grinding sound 
 as if the laughter machine were often out of use and 
 needed greasing. ' ' I got it through a clever thing I said. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Chubb shook her head : there were limits even with 
 her, and he had reached them. 
 
 "No," she said. "You may keep secrets from me if 
 you like, but you won 't get me to believe a tale like that. ' ' 
 
 "It's gospel truth," he said. 
 
 "Then what was it?" said Mrs. Chubb. 
 
 He stared at her, jingling the money, and then said 
 reluctantly 
 
 "I promised not to tell." 
 
 "Telling your wife's not telling," replied Mrs. Chubb.
 
 26 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "I never neard of such a thing. What! Husband and 
 wife are one. The Prayer-book says so." 
 
 "Well," said Chubb, "the cab was standing outside 
 Mrs. Dickson's, and it went." 
 
 "Went?" said Mrs. Chubb. 
 
 "Went," said Mr. Chubb. "No matter how; no matter 
 what for. ' ' Then he began to heave again and gasped out : 
 "I caught ho! ho! I caught it on the Eyeford Road." 
 
 Mrs. Chubb turned a little pale. 
 
 "If it wasn't you, Chubb, I should think you'd been 
 drinking. There's nothing clever in that as I can see." 
 
 Chubb abruptly ceased heaving and glared at his wife 
 with all the injured ferocity of the brilliant conversa- 
 tionalist snubbed in his own home. 
 
 "You wouldn't see," he said bitterly. "No man's own 
 wife ever does. That's at the bottom of a lot " 
 
 "But it isn't clever," interposed Mrs. Chubb, weeping. 
 "Nobody could say so but a fool." 
 
 "D'you call Mr. Unwin a fool?" Then he clapped his 
 hand before his mouth. "Oh Lord!" 
 
 "Mr. Unwin?" exclaimed Mrs. Chubb. 
 
 "Forget I mentioned Mr. Unwin," he commanded. 
 
 "But I can't," gulped Mrs. Chubb, wiping her eyes. 
 "You must own I do most things you tell me, Chubb, but 
 forgetting and remembering's like being sick. . . . There 
 it is. ... You can't get no control over it." She paused. 
 "Then Mr. Unwin gave you the money. Was it him that 
 took the cab, then? And whatever for?" 
 
 "I never said he did," grunted Chubb. 
 
 "Oh!" replied Mrs. Chubb, returning to her crockery 
 in the back kitchen. 
 
 The next day was her weekly charing morning at Mrs. 
 Dickson's, and she repaired thither with her round eyes 
 and pale moon-face as expressionless as usual, but with 
 an amount of seething, unsatisfied curiosity inside which 
 appeared likely to explode her corset laces.
 
 MRS. CHUBB 27 
 
 'At eleven o'clock, she and Eva sat down to cocoa and 
 conversation. 
 
 ' ' Queer thing about the cab clear vanishing from before 
 our house yesterday," said Eva. "I hear he caught it on 
 the Ryeford Road so he told the ladies." 
 
 "Aye," said Mrs. Chubb, regarding her jam tart. 
 
 "Funny, though/' pursued Eva, "that Mr. Chubb 
 should be able to catch even your slow old mare . . . with 
 his figger and all. ..." 
 
 "He's a fine figger of a man," said Mrs. Chubb. 
 
 "Well," said Eva, "there's plenty of him!" Then she 
 began to laugh. "Oh dear! Oh dear! You never did see 
 anything so blank in all your life as he looked when he 
 went to the door and there wasn 't no cab there. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Chubb looked up quickly, holding her tart sus- 
 pended between her plate and mouth. 
 
 "Chubb didn't see it go?" 
 
 "No, of course not. He was having a cup of tea in 
 the kitchen." 
 
 "Ah!" said Mrs. Chubb. "That's it then." 
 
 Eva bent forward eagerly. 
 
 ' ' That 's what ? What do you mean ? ' ' 
 
 "Oh, nothing," said Mrs. Chubb, putting her cup and 
 plate together. "Now then, it's tl-3 top staircase nezt, I 
 suppose?" 
 
 "You think there was something mysterious about the 
 cab going?" said Eva. 
 
 Mrs. Chubb pursed her lips and nodded. 
 
 "I do. The mare wouldn't move of herself." 
 
 "You think somebody took it?" 
 
 She nodded again, having immense enjoyment in taking 
 the superior place from her friend, who usually occupied 
 it. 
 
 "But who would do such a silly trick?" said Eva. "Not 
 but what a cousin o' mine stole a handcart for a practical 
 joke and got into a nice mess over it. But he was only 
 thirteen."
 
 28 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "I swore to Chubb I wouldn't tell," said Mrs. Chubb, 
 "and I won't." She took up her dustpan and brush. 
 "Young Mr. Unwin been here lately?" she asked in a 
 casual tone. 
 
 ' ' Oh ! " shrieked Eva. ' ' It was never him ? But what 
 on earth made him do it?" 
 
 "Hush!" cried Mrs. Chubb. "I never said so. I can't 
 help what you think. You shouldn't think!" 
 
 ' ' Us Martins was always beggars to think, ' ' Eva replied. 
 "That's what mother said when our Ben brought home 
 a pickle bottle full of tadpoles because she'd been ordered 
 a fish diet ; and she never spoke a truer word. ' ' 
 
 "Well, you can't say I told you," replied Mrs. Chubb; 
 and she went upstairs with dustpan and brush, while 
 Eva carried the eleven o'clock tea-tray into the sitting- 
 room. 
 
 Mrs. Dickson, who managed to be a rich woman by the 
 simple expedient of living on half her income and spend- 
 ing the other half on extras, turned to welcome the little 
 meal and hear at the same time any news that Mrs. Chubb 
 might have chanced to relate. She possessed an extraor- 
 dinary clear, simple nature, and since she could no longer 
 go out into the world, she made the best of all that came 
 into her straight-windowed sitting-room. But her obvious 
 pleasure in any scrap of gossip that would stir the rather 
 stagnant atmosphere of her life caused Eva and Pauline 
 too, for that matter to become undeniable newsmongers. 
 So it was with joy that Eva put down the tray and began 
 in the peculiar throaty tone used only for spicy and im- 
 portant items 
 
 "You mustn't breathe a word; but I believe I know 
 who took Chubb 's cab." 
 
 "Took it?" said Aunt Dickson. 
 
 "Yes. Ran away with it." She paused impressively. 
 "Mr. Unwin!" 
 
 "Ridiculous!" said Pauline. "Why on earth should 
 Mr. Unwin run away with Chubb 's old cab?"
 
 MRS. CHUBB 29 
 
 "I don't know, I'm sure, unless he'd had a drop too 
 much," said Eva. 
 
 "Really, Eva," said Aunt Dickson sharply. "You must 
 not suggest a thing like that unless you know it to be 
 true." 
 
 "No, 'm," said Eva, retreating, rather crestfallen. 
 
 But as the door closed on her, the ladies glanced at each 
 other. 
 
 "Terrible . . . this Wendlebury gossip," ejaculated 
 Aunt Dickson. ' ' I know few men less likely to drink than 
 young Unwin, though some foolish people might misun- 
 derstand his lively manner." 
 
 "I don't see how they could," agreed Pauline, "except- 
 ing that we are all so dull here that perhaps a really jolly 
 person might seem drunk." With which rather acid re- 
 mark she left the room. 
 
 Eva also was feeling irritable because she was quite un- 
 used to being snubbed by her mistress, and Mrs. Chubb 
 was not sorry, therefore, when her day's work came to 
 an end. 
 
 "Good-bye," sighed the charwoman at the door, bulg- 
 ing bass in hand. "I dessay I shall have a real good cry 
 when I get home." 
 
 "What for?" said Eva unsympathetically. "You've 
 had a plum loaf given you, and a jar of dripping, and half 
 a pork pie." 
 
 "Oh, no reason," said Mrs. Chubb. "I just feel low in 
 my spirits, that's all. Don't you never know what it is to 
 want a good cry without knowing why you want it?" 
 
 "I do," said Eva. "Them's the times when I go and 
 curl my hair and put my beaded shoes on." 
 
 Then she banged the door on Mrs. Chubb, who trailed 
 slowly down the street, wondering if Chubb would like 
 the pork pie for his supper.
 
 CHAPTEE IV 
 
 MISS AMELIA'S GHOST 
 
 ELEVENS is a repast not known to everybody because 
 the proper enjoyment of it entails breakfast at eight- 
 thirty and a morning of busy leisure. In Aunt Dickson's 
 house, however, the little meal reached perfection, and it 
 was remarkable how many Wendlebury ladies chanced to 
 pass about eleven o'clock feeling suddenly inspired to 
 cheer Aunt Dickson up, though they themselves disap- 
 proved of mid-morning refreshment. But to please the in- 
 valid they always did violence to their own digestions in 
 the end, and drew near the round table where they ate 
 and drank with well-simulated enjoyment. Aunt Dick- 
 son beamed so jollily over the thick cream and fragrant 
 tea and little round cakes that they no doubt felt rewarded 
 for their unselfishness, and exerted themselves to the ut- 
 most. One morning, indeed, Pauline was surprised to no- 
 tice that three thin ladies without an appetite between 
 them ate thirteen cakes and drank seven cups of tea, which 
 shows once more what the flesh can accomplish when the 
 spirit is animated by conscious virtue. 
 
 That happened, however, during Pauline's first year at 
 Wendlebury ; now she took it all as a matter of course, like 
 going to bed at ten and knowing everybody by sight who 
 passed the window. 
 
 On this particular morning it was Miss Amelia Pritch- 
 ard only who tripped up the spotless white steps and was 
 ushered as usual into the comfortable sitting-room. But 
 there was something quite unusual about the manner in 
 which she waited for Eva to retire. 
 
 30
 
 MISS AMELIA'S GHOST 31 
 
 ' ' I had to come ! ' ' she exclaimed hysterically as soon as 
 the door was closed. ' ' I couldn 't bear it any longer. Har- 
 riet is away for the day!" After which explosion she 
 buried her face in her pocket-handkerchief and wept bit- 
 terly. 
 
 Her friends gazed at her in great concern. 
 
 "Harriet has only gone to see your niece at Ryeford 
 Magna, I suppose?" suggested Aunt Dickson finally. 
 
 "Yes," sobbed Miss Amelia, "but she is so much 
 stronger minded than I am. I can't bear the strain 
 alone. ' ' 
 
 "What strain?" demanded Pauline, giving Miss Ame- 
 lia's shoulder a gentle shake. "Do tell us what strain?" 
 
 "I don't know if I dare . . . Harriet ..." answered 
 the poor lady incoherently. Then she started up with an 
 ' ' Excuse me ! ' ' peered out into the passage, closed the 
 door, murmured, "No, Eva appears to be upstairs," and 
 sat down again with the air of a white mouse at bay. 
 "Pauline," she continued, in a tone of eager serious- 
 ness, "you may perhaps have remarked that we used the 
 little end sewing-room for the hats and cloaks at our party 
 instead of taking our guests to my bedroom as usual?" 
 
 "Yes . . . now I come to think of it," said Pauline. 
 
 "Well, there was a reason. That is the secret which 
 Harriet will not allow me to tell." 
 
 Aunt Dickson and Pauline glanced at each other; it 
 seemed so incredible that the Misses Pritchard should 
 have any disgraceful skeleton to hide . . . and yet . . . 
 you never know. 
 
 "I don't like secrets," said Aunt Dickson. "Half the 
 misery and nine-tenths of the bother in the world is caused 
 by someobdy telling somebody else something in confidence 
 that they might just as well shout from the house-tops." 
 
 "Do you really think so?" said Miss Amelia, eagerly 
 swallowing advice which agreed with her own earnest 'de- 
 sire. 
 
 ' ' Sure of it, ' ' said Aunt Dickson, who began to be very
 
 32 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 curious indeed, and may also have been unconsciously in- 
 fluenced by mixed motives. 
 
 "When I tell you that I am obliged to clean my own 
 room and cannot have the gas repaired, though it jumps 
 to an extent which is perfectly awful in the present cir- 
 cumstances," pursued Miss Amelia, "you will know that 
 the matter is serious." 
 
 "But what is it?" cried Aunt Dickson, now impatient 
 beyond all bounds. ' ' Can 't you tell us in two words what 
 it is?" 
 
 "I can," said Miss Amelia, in a queer hollow tone, 
 leaning forward and fixing her red-rimmed eyes on Aunt 
 Dickson. "That is just what I can do. Our ghost!" 
 
 Aunt Dickson and Pauline started; then they cried, al- 
 most together 
 
 "You must be joking!" 
 
 "Do I look as if I were joking?" said Miss Amelia sim- 
 ply, and, gazing at her, they felt the keen justice of the 
 rebuke. 
 
 "I didn't mean to doubt your word," faltered Aunt 
 Dickson apologetically. "But people's imaginations run 
 away with them sometimes." 
 
 "So Harriet pretends to think," replied Miss Amelia. 
 "She is afraid of being called a nervous old maid and 
 so makes out, even to me, that it is the wind in the chim- 
 ney. " She paused, and continued solemnly: "Mrs. Dick- 
 son, did you ever hear a wind say Mary Jane?" 
 
 "Eh! What!" said Aunt Dickson: then she added 
 soothingly, for she really did begin to fear for her old 
 friend's reason: "Oh, I never heard of the wind saying 
 that, exactly . . . but poets and people . . . there used 
 to be a pretty song in my youth called, 'What are the wild 
 waves saying?' . . . much the same ..." 
 
 "Rubbish!" said Miss Amelia, agitated beyond all con- 
 sideration of politeness. "That's how Harriet talks. She 
 even imitates the wind howling to convince me, like this:
 
 MISS AMELIA'S GHOST 33: 
 
 Moo oo ooh! Mary Jane!" and Miss Amelia strove to 
 personate a down-draught saying those words. 
 
 Aunt Dickson leaned back, the tension of her attitude 
 slightly relieved. 
 
 "Well it might be so," she said. 
 
 "But that is not all," pursued Miss Amelia, drawing 
 her chair closer. "You may think what you like about 
 Mary Jane, as I remarked to Harriet, but nobody on 
 earth can make a natural wind say ' Damn your eye ! ' ' 
 
 "No," agreed Aunt Dickson, staring aghast. 
 
 "You are shocked, naturally," said Miss Amelia. "I 
 have reached that stage when nothing seems to matter. ' r 
 She lowered her voice. "But I say my prayers downstairs 
 in the sitting-room, inconvenient though it is, with the 
 maid in and out and so on. I really could not min- 
 gle . . ." 
 
 "Of course not," agreed Aunt Dickson hastily. "How 
 strange ! How dreadfully unpleasant ! Pauline. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, Aunt," 
 
 "Do see that the door really is quite closed, dear." 
 
 "But when did you first hear it?" asked Pauline, re- 
 turning from the inspection. 
 
 "A month ago. The very day when I told Harriet I 
 had a headache and could not help to do the china closet 
 out, though I was really quite well and only wished to 
 finish a crochet pattern. I sometimes wonder ..." Miss 
 Amelia paused on that, tentatively. 
 
 "No!" said Aunt Dickson. "The Lord would never 
 send a ghost for a little thing like that, I know. Too 
 busy. Let us put the matter aside for a moment and have 
 a cup of tea. I always think tea clears the intellect." 
 
 So Miss Amelia, protesting as usual, was induced to 
 drink two cups of hot, comforting, well-creamed tea, and 
 then felt so greatly refreshed that she was able to make 
 a suggestion. 
 
 "There is Mr. Unwin," she said. "If it should be any 
 sort of real wind he might be able to help us."
 
 34 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "Architects do know all about chimneys, of course," 
 agreed Aunt Dickson hopefully. "Why not go and ask 
 him to look at yours while Miss Harriet is away?" 
 
 But at this proposal Miss Amelia showed signs of be- 
 coming hysterical once more. 
 
 "Oh, I couldn't!" she said, wringing her hands. "I 
 couldn't possibly. I should break down in Mr. Un win's 
 office and that would be simply dreadful. Only fancy if 
 any one else came in! What would they think?" 
 
 "Write a note, then," said Pauline. 
 
 Miss Amelia shook her head, very much distressed and 
 yet, beneath it all, superior. 
 
 "No, my dear. A delicate matter like this is not to 
 be put down in writing. My sister might hear of it and 
 she would never forgive me. She always says that the 
 devil invented paper and pens for fools to give them- 
 selves away with. Poor father's expression, originally. 
 Harriet has at times quite a masculine turn of thought." 
 She paused and added ingratiatingly: "I suppose Pauline 
 would not care to step as far as Mr. Unwin's office and put 
 the matter before him? It is a pleasant morning though 
 dull, and young people like exercise in the fresh air. ' ' 
 
 "I really don't see," began Pauline, not attracted by 
 the prospect, when Miss Amelia broke in tragically 
 
 "How can you refuse when you know it is my last 
 hope* You are so clear-headed, you could explain the 
 matter so lucidly." 
 
 Pauline felt doubtful, but pity for poor, troubled Miss 
 Amelia prevailed over her reluctance, and very soon she 
 was walking down the High Street, jostled by market- 
 people and endeavouring to frame sentences which should 
 make Unwin see the affair in a not too ridiculous light. 
 'But the task was beyond her, and on being ushered into 
 a small private office hung with plans and engravings, 
 she could only state bluntly 
 
 "I have come from Miss Amelia Pritchard, who asks 
 you to go to her house at once, if possible."
 
 MISS AMELIA'S GHOST 35 
 
 "All right," said Unwin easily, "do sit down. So nice 
 to see a person here with coloured hair, you know. Most 
 of my few clients were left me by my father, and they 
 are white or grey. Makes me keep looking at mine to see 
 if it's turning too; age is so infectious, isn't it?" 
 
 "Very," said Pauline, perching lightly on the edge of 
 the great armchair. "When I think how I felt when I 
 was twenty ..." 
 
 "Ah, twenty!" 
 
 And they sighed together, united by the bond of their 
 present advanced years. Then, reluctantly, for it was 
 pleasant to talk of old age with Pauline, Unwin returned 
 to the matter in hand. "What does Miss Amelia want 
 this time?" he asked. "On the last occasion it was the 
 kitchen sink. Not that I mind . . . the Wendlebury la- 
 dies simply can't help mixing me up with the plumber." 
 
 "The the affair is rather difficult to explain," hesi- 
 tated Pauline. 
 
 "Oh! Never mind. I quite understand," said Unwin 
 hastily. For he thought such things happening in life 
 though romance naturally slurs them over that there 
 was something wrong with the domestic drainage system 
 which delicacy forbade her to mention. "I'll take a 
 plumber along with me." 
 
 "A plumber!" cried Pauline. "But what's the earthly 
 use of a plumber when it's a ghost that may be a wind 
 ... or a wind that may be a ghost ..." She broke off 
 and looked anxiously at him. ' ' Oh, dear, I know it seems 
 awfully odd." 
 
 "No, no," said Unwin soothingly, reflecting that her 
 eyes were after all much too bright, and that she had 
 been very ill indeed with some sort of breakdown when 
 she first came to Wendlebury. 
 
 "At least, it sounds like a wind, but it says 'Mary 
 Jane,' " continued Pauline, struggling for the lucidity 
 commended by Miss Amelia. "It says it in a strange
 
 36 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 sort of way, of course ; like this, Moo ooh ooh ! ' ' and 
 she also tried to impersonate a down-draught with a super- 
 natural vocabulary. 
 
 "Ah, yes. Nothing in that," said Unwin easily, but he 
 took up his hat. "I had an old aunt who had a wind in 
 her chimney that howled good-night as regular as clock- 
 work. And now," he concluded, holding open the door 
 with alacrity, "I suppose we had better be stepping 
 along." 
 
 All desire to detain his guest in polite dalliance had 
 completely vanished. But he felt very sorry indeed for 
 her, and exerted himself as they walked along to pour 
 forth a stream of light, soothing conversation. Beyond all 
 things he was anxious to avoid a repetition of the windy 
 Mary Jane in Wendlebury High Street, and he therefore 
 flowed smoothly over all her replies, not allowing her to 
 make a single connected speech, because the simplest thing 
 might excite a person in her state of mind. So Pauline 
 finally gave up any attempt at conversation, merely glanc- 
 ing at him from time to time, with a rather odd expres- 
 sion. No man, she reflected, could possibly be a drunkard 
 and look as he did; there was something so especially 
 pleasant and alive about him. Yet the idea of drunken- 
 ness suggested by Eva in this connection did just occur 
 to her before it was dismissed.. 
 
 They were both greatly relieved, therefore, when they 
 arrived at the house and saw Miss Amelia's anxious face 
 peering from the open door. 
 
 "Walk in," she said, using the voice which she kept 
 for the -funerals of people not nearly related. "This is 
 indeed kind, Mr. Unwin." Then she abruptly altered her 
 tone, grasped Pauline's sleeve and whispered urgently: 
 "You can't go. I insist upon your remaining. Don't 
 you know I have to accompany him into my bedroom ? ' ' 
 
 Pauline, who had been about to depart, was moved by 
 this appeal and followed Miss Amelia up the narrow stair- 
 case, where the poor lady nearly broke her neck in turn-
 
 MISS AMELIA'S GHOST 37 
 
 ing round to twitter nervous remarks about the weather 
 so that the situation might be carried off with decorum. 
 
 Unwin, who came last, felt very large and coarse among 
 so much white floor-cloth and lacy cleanliness, and this im- 
 pression was increased when he stood in Miss Amelia's 
 room where the very chair seats had little white mats 
 upon them edged with fine needlework, and the bed was 
 like a flounced mid- Victorian lady prepared for a party. 
 
 "This," said Miss Amelia solemnly, "is the haunted 
 room. : ' 
 
 "The what?" said Unwin staring. "Then you really 
 did send that message about er Mary Jane?" 
 
 "Of course I did," said Miss Amelia. "Has not Miss 
 Westcott told you all about it?" 
 
 "Oh er yes," stammered Unwin. "I didn't quite 
 understand. I mean ..." He walked to the fireplace, 
 pulling his wits together. "So you hear the noise some- 
 where about this spot, I gather?" he concluded profession- 
 ally. 
 
 "Just about there," said Miss Amelia, greatly agitated. 
 "Miss Westcott would no doubt describe the strange 
 sound : like this Moo ooh ooh ! ' ' 
 
 They all peered up the chimney . . . and as if in an- 
 swer, came a ghostly echo, only much plainer: "Mary 
 Jane!" . t r 
 
 Pauline and Unwin both started, and Miss Amelia be- 
 gan to weep again in dismal resignation. 
 
 "It often behaves like that . . . the spirit answering 
 . . . making fun of us. ... Oh, Mr. Unwin, it does seem 
 hard that if we have to have a ghost we can't have one like 
 other people. I sometimes fear for my reason." 
 
 At the word reason, Unwin thought of his unfounded 
 suspicion concerning Pauline, and again peered up the 
 chimney with a slightly heightened colour. 
 
 "The sound certainly appears to come from up there, ' r 
 he remarked. 
 
 "Mary Jane! Damn your eye! Mary Jane!" retorted
 
 38 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 the ghostly voice, shooting out the words in rapid suc- 
 cession. 
 
 Unwin straightened himself and turned round abruptly 
 to Miss Amelia. "When did you last use this chimney?" 
 
 "Three years ago when I had bronchitis," she qua- 
 vered, gazing up at him with tragic intensity. 
 
 "Then it's that beastly jackdaw from the Bowling Green 
 Inn," he said. 
 
 "Jackdaw!" cried Pauline. 
 I "Jackdaw!" shrieked Miss Amelia. 
 
 "They forgot to cut its wings and it has been lost for 
 some time," said Unwin. "I play bowls there, and I 
 asked what had happened to it." 
 
 "I knew it was a low ghost," said Miss Amelia faintly, 
 sinking down on the nearest chair. "A public-house. 
 . . . We are, indeed, all the victims of our surroundings." 
 And her distress having been very great and the reaction 
 sudden and complete, she subsided gently upon the floor. 
 
 In a moment or two, however, she opened her eyes and 
 murmured fervently 
 
 "Mr. Unwin Pauline your united kindness I can 
 never forget." 
 
 "It is nothing. I am glad to have found the old vil- 
 lain," replied Unwin, and he went to procure a man, a 
 ladder and other requisites for removing the bird from 
 the disused chimney. But this proved to be no easy task, 
 and it was after two o'clock when he finally stood before 
 Miss Amelia and Pauline, very grimy indeed, with a still 
 grimier bird in a covered basket. 
 
 "Well, here's the ghost at last," he said. "Its wings 
 are clipped now, all right, but I thought the beggar was 
 going to escape before I could get it out of its hiding 
 place." 
 
 "Oh, how I shall sleep to-night!" sighed Miss Amelia. 
 "Oh, Mr. Unwin, I can never, never thank you enough." 
 
 "Nonsense! Great fun, I assure you," said Unwin 
 cheerily. "Rather like bird-nesting, which I always en-
 
 MISS AMELIA'S GHOST 39 
 
 joyed. And now I'll take the jackdaw back to the land- 
 lady with your compliments at once, if you don't mind." 
 
 ' ' Landlady ! ' ' exclaimed Miss Amelia. ' ' But, of course, 
 you are jesting again. I am sure you quite understand 
 that this matter must be kept absolutely between our- 
 selves. My poor sister. ... I can imagine nothing more 
 painful to her than the knowledge that she had become 
 part-heroine of what might be termed er a funny 
 story." 
 
 "Quite so," said Unwin. "You may rely on my dis- 
 cretion, and I am convinced that Miss Westcott will be 
 equally silent." 
 
 Then he made his adieux and retired with a grave for- 
 mality rather marred, but not destroyed, by a streak of 
 black over one eye. 
 
 Pauline accompanied him to the door, and as he was 
 going out she said, hesitating 
 
 "You know . . . you've been awfully good. But she's 
 a dear, isn't she?" 
 
 "Of course she is. I love her," said Unwin. 
 
 Pauline laughed. 
 
 "You seem to love lots of people." 
 
 He glanced at her in slight surprise, as if it were a 
 true fact about himself which he had not noticed before. 
 
 "Oh, well," he said, "people are jolly, aren't they?" 
 
 Then he went away, and Pauline stood looking after 
 him as he went jauntily down the street carrying the 
 jackdaw. 
 
 A fine rain was now falling, and he blessed this common 
 circumstance 'because it would ensure the bowling green 
 being sufficiently deserted for the private repatriation 
 of the jackdaw. So he avoided the front door of the 
 inn, slipped round to the back, and had just let the bird 
 out of the basket when a red face appeared over the 
 clipped hedge and a loud female voice shouted suddenly 
 
 "Hi! What are you doing with our Mary Jane?"
 
 40 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Then, as Unwin straightened himself and stared at her: 
 "Mr. Unwin! It's never you, Mr. Unwin?" 
 
 "Y-yes," acknowledged Unwin reluctantly. "The er 
 fact is, I found your jackdaw and was just quietly re- 
 storing it to its old haunts." Then the word "haunt" 
 seeming so particularly appropriate in this connection, he 
 smiled at her. "Didn't want to make a fuss," he added. 
 
 "Seems not," said the landlady. Then she added, after 
 a pause, "You can't help feeling it's queer." 
 
 "Such a lot of things are," urged Unwin. "Supposing 
 we put this among the rest and say no more about it, eh ? " 
 
 "Our little Bessie cried herself sick about losing the 
 poor bird," said the landlady. "I can't get over that, all 
 in a minute, nor Bessie neither." 
 
 "Do you think a new doll ... as Mary Jane has come 
 back?" suggested Unwin, tendering five shillings. 
 
 "Oh! well ..." said the landlady, taking the money. 
 "Only I'd rather know what really got our Mary Jane, 
 you know." 
 
 As Unwin was unable, however, to satisfy this natural 
 feminine instinct, he departed with all convenient speed 
 and walked thoughtfully back to his office wondering why 
 such things must always happen to him. So when the 
 Vicar put up a detaining hand and said importantly: 
 "One moment! There is something I wish to say to you 
 in strictest confidence," it is not surprising that he re- 
 plied, on the spur of the moment: "Not if I know it! 
 Confidences are too much of a strain. Besides, I'm not a 
 millionaire." 
 
 The Vicar smiled vaguely. 
 
 "Always a jest, always a jest; and a good thing too, 
 in its way. But to be serious for a moment, my dear fel- 
 low . . ." 
 
 "I am serious," said Unwin; "I never was more seri- 
 ous in my life. I've had no lunch yet." 
 
 "Ah, yes," said the Vicar. "Well, I wanted to tell 
 you about Lord Southwater. I hear from a private source
 
 MISS AMELIA'S GHOST 41 
 
 that he is seeking a new architect. But this must go no 
 further." 
 
 Unwin nodded, and thus received a third confidence, 
 after all. 
 
 The Vicar hesitated. 
 
 "I hope you won't think me impertinent, Unwin, but 
 I rather fear your business is not not quite what it was ? ' ' 
 
 "You might put it plainer than that without being 
 offensively candid," said Unwin, with a laugh. "There is 
 no scope for an architect in this neighbourhood now, as 
 you know. But my poor father was broken-hearted at 
 the thought of there being no Unwin to follow on after 
 three generations, so I couldn't refuse ..." 
 
 "No, no. I quite see. I quite see," said the Vicar. 
 "You did what was right. That, in the end, is every- 
 thing." 
 
 "Is it?" said Unwin. "Well, perhaps it is ... only 
 . . . "Well, I've got to get my lunch now. Good-bye." 
 
 So the Vicar, who was a prig but a very kind prig, went 
 on to his Mother's Meeting composing remarks about 
 Unwin which should be suited to the all-powerful ear of 
 Lord Southwater.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 A VISITOR OF IMPORTANCE 
 
 LORD SOUTHWATER was a rich widower with a long, 
 bald, pink face, a fine hand and a hobby for restoring 
 and building churches. He indulged this taste to the full ; 
 consciously because he had a sincere love for ecclesiastical 
 architecture; unconsciously, because he wished to occupy 
 the same prominent position elsewhere as he had always 
 done here. 
 
 At the present moment, however, he slept in a corner 
 seat of a first-class railway carriage on his way to inspect 
 the restorations which had been recently made in the chan- 
 cel of Wendlebury Parish Church, and his last waking 
 thought had been of Mrs. Delamere flashing eyes and teeth 
 at him in welcome. Not that he had any great affection 
 for his sister-in-law, but because her presence always 
 gave him a faint sense of discomfort which he hid under 
 a marked cordiality lest he should in any way seem to 
 slight the memory of his dead brother, though he was a 
 man to whom even the mildest duplicity was extremely 
 distasteful. 
 
 While he thus slumbered, preparations for his due re- 
 ception were being made in the little red-roofed town. 
 Mrs. Delamere and her maids threw back the folding- 
 doors and placed rows of chairs hired from the inn in the 
 long, imposing apartment formed by drawing-room and 
 dining-room combined: the Wendlebury ladies took out 
 their best dresses from cedar-scented wardrobes, while 
 Mrs. Chubb before her cottage hearth was brushing with 
 great care the Sunday hat and coat of Mr. Chubb. 
 
 "You can do as you like," said that respectable cab- 
 
 42
 
 A VISITOR OF IMPORTANCE 43 
 
 driver, eating buttered toast and drinking tea with great 
 truculence; which sounds difficult, tea and toast being 
 essentially mild viands, but Chubb could make water-gruel 
 the element of a jamboree. "I won't wear 'em," he con- 
 cluded. "I tell you that, straight." 
 
 "But a lord " entreated *Mrs. Chubb. "And you 
 
 do look so handsome when you're dressed, Chubby." 
 
 He frowned, hardening still more outside, but melting 
 slightly within, and responded surlily 
 
 "What's the use of figging myself out for Lord South- 
 water who never gives more'n a twopenny tip, eh? I like 
 a lord to ~be a lord, and splash his money about a bit. 
 That's what we keep 'em for, isn't it?" 
 
 But Mrs. Chubb was not to be switched off upon politi- 
 cal issues and giggled persuasively 
 
 "Mrs. White next door said only the other day that 
 no wonder the ladies always wanted you to drive 'em out. 
 She should be jealous if she was me, she says." 
 
 "Chattering old fool, she is," grunted Chubb: but at 
 the same time he took the coat without seeming to be 
 aware of it. 
 
 "If I was a lord," pursued Mrs. Chubb, patting his 
 collar into place, "I should find a better hobby than 
 doing up churches, shouldn't you?" 
 
 "I should that," agreed Mr. Chubb cordially. "Why, 
 when you think his father won the Derby and his grand- 
 father owned Perigord ! It makes you believe in all this talk 
 of the English race going to the dogs, it does indeed." 
 
 "Aye, and this Lord Southwater not knowing a hunter 
 from an old lady's carriage horse," said Mrs. Chubb, 
 "and spending hundreds, so they say, a-mending up the 
 church here." 
 
 "Well, Unwin will have made a bit," said Chubb. "It 
 was luck for him, Lord Southwater 's architect being taken 
 ill." He paused. "But if we ever get enough saved up 
 to build out that porch, I don't know as I shall employ 
 young Unwin. He'd forget something, I doubt."
 
 44 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "Aye too flighty-like, " said Mrs. Chubb, opening the 
 cottage door for her husband. And as Mr. Chubb passed 
 the bright windows of the other cottages, he glanced fur- 
 tively at his own reflection, realising that his wife was 
 not without some slight intelligence of the inferior fe- 
 male sort, for he did indeed look a fine figure of a man 
 in his Sunday overcoat and hat. 
 
 Mrs. Chubb watched him turn the corner and was about 
 to retire into the house when Eva, Mrs. Dickson's maid, 
 appeared from the other direction, and after explaining 
 that the cab was required for that same evening, she 
 accepted an invitation to walk in. There was still some 
 good tea in the pot and the two women sat down before 
 the bright fire. A pleasant aroma of tea, hot butter and 
 scorching bread filled the apartment, the very incense 
 most acceptable to the nose of the goddess of scandal in 
 this climate, though, being universal, she adapts her rites 
 to the varying conditions of the world, and no doubt has 
 perfumes equally able to loose the tongue elsewhere. 
 
 "And so," said Mrs. Chubb ("Another lump, do!) 
 And so you want the cab for a quarter to eight? Mrs. 
 Delamere's party, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes; Chubb must mind and not let anybody run 
 away with the cab this time," replied Eva, laughing. 
 
 "It's all very well to make a joke on it," said Mrs. 
 Chubb, gazing solemn-eyed over the edge of her cup. "I 
 know something about that, as would surprise you. But 
 I'm no gossip and never was." 
 
 "No, nor me either," said Eva cordially. "Still, be- 
 tween two old friends like us . . ." 
 
 "It's different, of course," agreed Mrs. Chubb. "Now 
 there's that Mrs. White, I wouldn't tell her anything I 
 didn't want to go no further; no, not for a king's ransom." 
 
 "You're right there," said Eva. "But us Martins was 
 always brought up to keep things to ourselves. I shall 
 ever remember the day when our Emm came running 
 home with a tale about a woman we knew stealing a
 
 45 
 
 neighbour's coal. Mother gave our Emm such a clout 
 on the head for gossiping before she went round to teil 
 the neighbours about it. That's how I first learnt to be 
 so careful. We've a lot to thank our mother for." She 
 sighed, then dismissing the matter, continued in another 
 tone: "You were going to say something about that cab 
 affair when I interrupted, weren't you?" 
 
 "Not about the cab," replied Mrs. Chubb. 
 
 "About Chubb then?" 
 
 "No, indeed." 
 
 "Unwin?" suggested Eva. 
 
 Mrs. Chubb nodded three times. 
 
 ' ' What 's he been doing now ? ' ' asked Eva, with the intense 
 relish of those whose own lives afford no scope for drama. 
 * ' He 's never been and run away with the cab again ? ' ' 
 
 "No." Mrs. Chubb leaned forward and continued in 
 a low, mysterious voice: "You know the Dragon at Rye- 
 ford? Well, there's somebody very ill there. Chubb 's 
 
 driven Doctor Carter over three times. Each time " 
 
 Mrs. Chubb paused. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Each time Chubb saw Unwin hanging about the 
 Dragon." 
 
 "Ah!" said Eva. 
 
 "He goes there to get his drink on the quiet," said 
 Mrs. Chubb. "But I heard tell of him down at the Bowl- 
 ing Green Inn in Windlebury, too." 
 
 "Well," said Eva, reluctantly beginning to tear herself 
 away by putting down her tea-cup. "As I always say, 
 men's men. You can't make otherways of 'em. Particu- 
 larly bachelors. A man and a mug o' beer a boy and 
 a apple-tree there you are: you can't go against nature." 
 
 As Eva was reporting to her mistress the result of her 
 errand, Unwin cycled past the window. Pauline, who 
 stood near it, was giving scraps of information to the 
 invalid by the fire.
 
 46 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "There's Unwin cycling past," she remarked, seizing 
 hold of the topic with a degree of alertness that only 
 those can understand who have been much with beloved, 
 and old, and house-bound people. "I'm sure he ought to 
 be at the church explaining the alterations to Lord South- 
 water by this time. I saw the Vicar going in when I passed 
 half an hour ago." 
 
 "Lord South water is a very punctual man," remarked 
 Aunt Dickson. "He won't like it if Unwin is late. "What- 
 ever can have made the foolish fellow cycle off to Ryeford 
 at the last moment in this way?" 
 
 "Yes, and in the rain too," added Pauline. 
 
 Eva placed some change on the table and said nothing 
 in words, but her facial expression was such that both 
 Aunt Dickson and Pauline exclaimed together: "Eva, 
 what do you know about it?" 
 
 "Nothing, oh, nothing," said Eva. "I'm no gossip, 
 though you did say ..." She broke off and retired, 
 adding formally: "So it's scrambled eggs for supper." 
 
 But her very nose-end radiated suppressed information. 
 
 Dignity, however, forbade Aunt Dickson to call her 
 back, and to her great disappointment she was allowed to 
 close the door. Slowly she paced the passage to the 
 kitchen where she stood considering for some time by the 
 fire; at last her long features became illuminated; she 
 hastened back to the room, put her head in at the door, 
 and said in an apologetic tone: "Me memory's going. 
 Did you say scrambled eggs for supper?" 
 
 "Yes." Aunt Dickson glanced up expectantly, while 
 Eva came in, shut the door behind her, and said in a 
 low voice : "I can 't tell you a lie ! I never have. I won 't 
 begin now, Unwin or no Unwin. I did hear something 
 when I was at Mrs. Chubb 's." 
 
 For a moment Aunt Dickson fought with her worse 
 feelings and then gave in. She had found the day so long 
 with the enforced inaction and constant, slight pain; and
 
 A VISITOR OF IMPORTANCE 47 
 
 the thought of something new to think about seemed like 
 an anodyne. 
 
 ''Well?" she said. 
 
 "Well," said Eva, enjoying the importance very much, 
 "Mr. Un win's been at the Dragon at Ryeford, I bet a 
 button. He's always there." 
 
 "Who says so?" demanded Pauline. 
 
 "Chubb," said Eva. 
 
 "Oh, Chubb!" said Pauline. 
 
 Aunt Dickson thought for a moment. 
 
 "I really can't believe it of young Unwin," she said 
 at last. "He is such a nice man." 
 
 "Aye," responded Eva darkly. "But the devil endows 
 his own. We all know that. You never did meet a good- 
 for-nought that wasn't nicer than he ought to be." 
 
 ' ' I don 't believe a word of it, ' ' declared Pauline. 
 
 But Eva was not offended because she instinctively 
 knew 'Aunt Dickson and Pauline were only preserving the 
 conventions, and that she had been as interesting as she 
 could possibly have desired. 
 
 One part of the story did indeed bear evidence of 
 truth, for Unwin arrived at the church with a damp 
 jacket and the unmistakable mud of the Ryeford Road 
 on his boots, and a general appearance .of being sartorially 
 unprepared for the august little group which awaited him. 
 
 Lord Southwater had been standing for some time on 
 the lower step of the chancel, eyeglass in hand, while 
 Mrs. Delamere murmured in a religious undertone: "I 
 don't actually visit with the Wendlebury people, of 
 course, but one's duty to one's neighbour . . . one has 
 to consider that sometimes ... so I thought it would 
 be so delightful if you would give a short address on the 
 architecture of Wendlebury Church this evening in my 
 drawing-room. We know so little, really, of our church, and 
 it enables me to invite those whom . . . you understand ? ' * 
 
 Then Unwin came hurriedly up the aisle and Lord
 
 48 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Southwater advanced with that air of being the principal 
 layman at a clerical conference which never seemed to 
 leave him, and which the imagination pictured present 
 even in his bath, where he no doubt gave to the soap 
 and sponge the same impression of secular saintship. 
 
 Unwin made such apologies as he could muster, but 
 the great man was at first very stiff and unapproachable, 
 as was only natural in a benefactor who has been kept 
 waiting, while the culprit himself was obviously worried 
 and preoccupied, though he tried hard to bring his mind 
 to bear upon the matter in hand. After a while, however, 
 the genuine love of both men for the village churches of 
 England those homes of the religion and poetry and 
 history of the race began to draw them together. For 
 beneath Lord Southwater 's dull crust of self-importance 
 and Unwin 's young affectation of indifference was a spring- 
 ing enthusiasm which made their talk eager and vital. 
 Each understood and saw in the other more than their 
 words said, and to the Vicar and Mrs. Delamere was left 
 that rather forlorn position of watching the minds of two 
 men, utterly unlike each other, thus touching and fusing 
 into a very harmonious understanding. 
 
 But once the inspection was over and the four stood 
 grouped by the door speaking of the weather in the 
 hushed tones desirable in a sacred edifice, all Unwin 's 
 former preoccupation and constraint returned. He could 
 not feel at ease when he saw always, on the rich gloom 
 of the church behind Lord South water's pink, important 
 face, the face of the dying man at the Green Dragon. 
 It seemed so strange and terrible that these two had been 
 little brothers, playing at horses together. . . . The intol- 
 erable strangeness of human life gripped hold of Unwin. 
 How could this man stand there, calm and important, un- 
 aware that his brother was dying amongst strangers only 
 two miles away? 
 
 "Then, Mr. Unwin," and he started to hear Mrs. Dela- 
 mere 's graciously condescending voice through the gloom
 
 A VISITOR OF IMPORTANCE 49 
 
 and wonder, "we shall hope to see you this evening at 
 eight o'clock?" 
 
 Unwin hesitated, but the Vicar's frown and his own 
 knowledge of the unwisdom of offending Lord South- 
 water made him answer almost at once 
 
 "Thank you, I shall be delighted to come, but I am 
 obliged to leave immediately after the lecture." 
 
 "That is, of course, as you wish," said Mrs. Delamere, 
 then to her guest, she added with dignity : "I think our 
 carriage is waiting." And so the party emerged into the 
 soft falling rain. 
 
 Chubb 's mare stood patiently demure between the 
 shafts, but at Unwin 's affectionate "Hullo, Griselda!" she 
 did flick a tail, as the demurest matron may on finding 
 that she still has charms for a nice young man. And 
 indeed Unwin did rejoice to see her, because she roused 
 in him just for a moment the sense of fun which he hated 
 to live without; he so actively detested being obliged to 
 feel miserable. 
 
 "Wet day, Chubb," smiled Mrs. Delamere, claiming 
 him as an old and grateful retainer: but Chubb main- 
 tained an unresponsive gravity, refusing to be so claimed 
 by any one living for a less tip than threepence a journey. 
 
 As Unwin made his way down the street he was hailed 
 from the curb by Miss Argle who was the one social equal 
 of Mrs. Delamere, being an Argle of Argle Hall. 
 
 "Sorry to trouble you," she said excitedly. "Gentle-, 
 men so scarce in Wendlebury . . . away for some weeks 
 . . . rather a delicate matter ..." 
 
 "Then I think you'd better find some one else," said 
 Unwin, with decision. " I 'm no good at anything delicate. ' ' 
 And he prepared to cycle on. 
 
 "Oh, please! Please!" cried Miss Argle. "It's my 
 nephew. Seventeen. He is staying with me and has a 
 new dress suit and Mrs. Delamere says evening dress 
 optional. I do think it is a most trying thing for people
 
 50 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 to say that, Mr. Unwin. There are problems enough in 
 the world, I should suppose, without people adding to 
 them by saying evening dress optional. If my nephew 
 dresses and others don't, it looks a little ostentatious, 
 doesn't it? And if he refrains and others do, he will be 
 exceedingly angry with me and glower in a corner and re- 
 fuse to hand round the coffee and sandwiches. So I 
 thought I would ask you what you were going to do." 
 
 " Oh ! 1 11 put on swallow-tails and then he '11 feel all right, 
 anyway. When in doubt, dress, I suppose," said Unwin. 
 
 ''Oh! Quite an epigram, I declare," said Miss Argle. 
 "Always so good-natured ... see you this evening . . ." 
 and she murmured herself away at last, leaving Unwin 
 free to mount his bicycle. 
 
 When Mrs. Delamere said vaguely to her brother-in- 
 law that his lecture gave her a chance to invite those 
 whom . . . and left it, she was once more endeavouring 
 to convey her most rigid principle, namely, that she 
 did not visit with the Wendlebury people but only with 
 the county, though she saw Miss Harriet and Miss Amelia 
 Pritchard at least fifty times more often than, for in- 
 stance, the Bracegirdles of Bracegirdle. But it is a fool- 
 ish thing to think that voluntary climbers up are the 
 only snobs, because involuntary climbers down are often 
 just the same, and perhaps even more insistent. 
 
 So Lord South water's sister-in-law was very glad to 
 show him to her little world in what might be termed 
 a non-committal manner, and by eight o'clock her apart- 
 ments gave one, as Miss Amelia remarked to Pauline, 
 quite a brilliant example of what aristocratic At Homes 
 in London must be like. And the jewel or apex of all this 
 subdued splendour was the peer by the mantelpiece, who 
 wore, not exactly a dress suit, but the sanctified and hy- 
 brid garb used by him for giving addresses at Young 
 Men's Associations, consisting of a frock coat, a black 
 tie, and a good deal of white shirt front.
 
 A VISITOR OF IMPORTANCE 51 
 
 As soon as the company was seated, the address began, 
 and Lord South-water's excellent flat voice boomed gra- 
 ciously across the fluttering rows of Wendlebury ladies in 
 their light silks and laces and grenadines, with an odd 
 man making a dark patch here and there. Miss Amelia 
 sat next to the Vicar, and had seldom felt so much in 
 spirits, with Pauline on her other side, and Unwin most 
 pleasant in the row behind. 
 
 But when she turned round to catch Unwin 's eye, while 
 Lord Southwater paused for breath and water and there 
 was a delicate clatter of applause, she felt disturbed to 
 see his look of stern gravity, for it had not occurred to her 
 that his blunt, debonair features could wear such a look. 
 Then Lord Southwater gave a preparatory cough and 
 the impression faded from the surface of her mind. 
 
 Unwin, however, still sat with his eyes fixed on the 
 speaker, and his look remained the same. For behind 
 Lord Southwater he again saw Delamere's worn cheeks 
 and burnt-out eyes. And no pictured comparison of Ho- 
 garth could have been so startlingly real to Unwin 's mod- 
 ern view as that large, pink, assured face with the other 
 one looming behind it. 
 
 Yet Delamere had been the best loved son of his 
 mother. His first wreckage had come through a sort of 
 love. Unwin loved him now, though he was irritable, 
 wretched, dying. And no one had ever greatly loved 
 Lord Southwater. 
 
 Unwin thought this, sitting there among the gaily clad 
 Wendlebury ladies; but he could find no answer to the 
 immortal problem. And, gradually, for he had been al- 
 ready watching three consecutive nights at the Dragon, 
 the sonorous periods of the speaker began to make him 
 drowsy. He ceased to think and puzzle and let his glance 
 rest idly upon Pauline's ear as it emerged from the 
 shadow of her dark hair. She had pretty ears, he thought, 
 and a pretty neck. How exquisitely she was shaped alto- 
 gether. ... A man scarcely noticed how delicately lovely
 
 52 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 she was until he sat near her quietly and watched her 
 . . . her quick, bright eyes seemed to ward off a man's 
 glances when she was talking. . . . By now he was almost 
 asleep from sheer fatigue, while, half-real and half-un- 
 real, Pauline's slender neck over the chair-back, with a 
 little curling lock upon it, bloomed vaguely before him 
 like the thick petal of a white camelia. He thought, quite 
 aimlessly, that it must be cool and soft to the touch like 
 the petal of such a flower. Then he awoke with a start 
 to the realisation of his surroundings and knew that 
 Lord Southwater had ceased speaking. 
 
 With that full awakening came other thoughts, much 
 more urgent, and in the confusion caused by all the ladies 
 congratulating Lord Southwater he managed to slip away. 
 
 But Mrs. Delamere did not seek to detain any of her 
 departing guests, remarking casually, indeed, that Lord 
 Southwater liked to retire early, which, as Miss Amelia 
 said, would in some people have seemed almost like a 
 hint to go. It being impossible, however, that a hostess 
 of Mrs. Delamere 's breeding could be inhospitable, the 
 ladies took the statement at its face value and twittered 
 out into the front hall, where they waited in a strong 
 draught for a long time while the four Wendlebury cabs 
 lumbered back and forth as speedily as convenient. 
 
 Pauline, being young, had to wait until the very end, 
 and nothing but the strongest sense of gratitude to Aunt 
 Dickson could have made her obey the last injunction: 
 "on no account to walk home through the wet." But 
 at last she, also, was safely in her little, straight-fronted 
 house, where a light gleaming beneath Aunt Dickson 's 
 downstair bedroom door showed that interested spectator 
 of life to be still awake and eagerly awaiting news. 
 
 A moment or two the girl hesitated with her hand on 
 the knob of the door, because her head ached badly and 
 she longed for bed and darkness and quiet, then she turned 
 the handle and went in.
 
 A VISITOR OF IMPORTANCE 53 
 
 "Awake still?" she said cheerfully. 
 
 Aunt Dickson nodded and looked out expectantly over 
 her gay patchwork quilt. 
 
 "Well, who was there? Did any one ask after me?" 
 
 But her face was unusually sad and dull because she 
 had been feeling during the evening the irksomeness of 
 being chained down by her old body while her spirit was 
 still so ardent and full of youth. 
 
 "The Vicar said he was sorry not to see you there," 
 said Pauline. "We had sandwiches called chicken, but 
 Miss Amelia saw Mrs. Delamere buying a couple of rab- 
 bits yesterday and she said it might be a co-incidence, of 
 course . . . such strange co-incidences did happen." 
 
 Pauline's voice and manner were so like Miss Amelia's 
 that Aunt Dickson said reprovingly: "Come, come, Paul- 
 ine, you know that is a dangerous gift." But she already 
 began to glance out jolly and alert above her patchwork 
 quilt instead of staring across it in dull acquiescence. 
 
 So Pauline drew a chair near the bedside and sat down 
 to give a full account of the evening's entertainment, 
 leaving out no frill or furbelow, and lending to the whole 
 a glow and verve which it had certainly never possessed. 
 This was, indeed, a sort of enchanted party that Pauline 
 had brought home, and Aunt Dickson nodded and chuck- 
 led and exclaimed, as if the familiar figures were playing 
 their different parts around her bed. 
 
 "Well," she said at last, "it must have been delightful 
 to see when it is so pleasant even to hear about. But you 
 never mentioned Unwin. Was he not there?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, "said Pauline casually. "He slipped away 
 before any one else." 
 
 "Why was he in such a hurry, I wonder?" said Aunt 
 Dickson. 
 
 "Oh, something better to do, I suppose," said Pauline. 
 
 But she also rather wondered why Unwin had left be- 
 fore any one else.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 CRANBIE'S SALE 
 
 AUNT DICKSON having been to a party, though only 
 by proxy, awoke next morning filled with vim and 
 go. She even felt a sort of bustling satisfaction in the 
 knowledge that the stress of living was to be further in- 
 creased by the advent of Mrs. Chubb. 
 
 Whiz! went her bell through the house before Pauline 
 was up, and when Eva appeared at her leisure Aunt 
 Dickson said alertly 
 
 "Ask Miss Pauline to come here immediately she has 
 breakfasted. And tell Mrs. Chubb to use the new carpet- 
 sweeper to-day, it will save her a lot of hard work. ' ' 
 
 "She won't," said Eva. "She's like deaf Sammy Bur- 
 ton in our village. When parson gave him a new coat, he 
 would wear the sleeves turned up because he'd had to 
 wear his old one so. Us Martins never was like that. 
 My grandmother learnt a fresh way of making cheesecakes 
 when she was seventy." 
 
 "You must explain to Mrs. Chubb," insisted Aunt 
 Dickson. 
 
 Eva shook her head. 
 
 "Mrs. Chubb 's one of those that won't be telled. You 
 can't do nothing with a person that won't be telled; 
 there's no hope for them." 
 
 Then she retired and Pauline soon entered to find Aunt 
 Dickson sitting up in bed with a blue pencil in her hand 
 and catalogues spread on the patchwork quilt reading 
 "Tea-cloths Absurdly Marked Down," and "Towels Posi- 
 tively Given Away, ' ' a supreme effort of Wendlebury com- 
 merce. 
 
 54
 
 CRANBIE'S SALE 55 
 
 The Sale was to take place at Cranbie's shop in the 
 High Street, owing to the death of the senior partner, 
 and though certain French names convey something to 
 London ladies speaking of apparel, they cannot furnish 
 the solid unassailable impression of good stuff and solid 
 money's worth which is ours when we say, rather care- 
 lessly: "Oh, yes; I got it at Cranbie's!" 
 
 Some of the younger people now purchase ready-made 
 garments by post from a distance, and it has to be owned 
 that they have quite an air outwardly. But Miss Harriet 
 voiced the sentiments of many when she murmured: 
 "One always wonders a little how the seams are over- 
 cast. A raw seam would give me an impression of sar- 
 torial insecurity which no lady should countenance." 
 
 We customers of Cranbie's, however, were seamed and 
 boned and felled and overcast until we could have stood 
 anything short of a charge of dynamite under our petti- 
 coats with a certainty of absolute propriety. 
 
 But a sale, even at Cranbie's, was an event which the 
 most select circle in Wendlebury preferred to ignore, the 
 assumption being that sales were low affairs, at which it 
 was in some vague way derogatory to be seen. 
 
 Thus when Pauline went out early to catch the first 
 bargains for Aunt Dickson, and met Mrs. Delamere in 
 Cranbie's doorway as the door opened, that lady frowned, 
 flushed, and said with a jaunty air 
 
 "What an early bird! My cook has sent me out for 
 some preserving sugar: my brother-in-law Lord South- 
 water sent me a splendid hamper of strawberries last 
 evening," and so passed on. 
 
 But when Pauline had wrestled with the towels and 
 turned sharply round a grove of quilts to the "Teacloths 
 Absurdly Marked Down," she came face to face with 
 Miss Harriet and Miss Amelia. 
 
 There they were. Blankly, unmistakably they were 
 there; and it was a second or two before Miss Harriet 
 said carelessly: "I am looking for the stocking counter.
 
 56 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Everything upside down with this dreadful sale. I think 
 I must wait until next week when things will be more 
 in order." 
 
 With that she moved towards the door of the shop, 
 followed by poor Miss Amelia in so crestfallen a fashion 
 that Pauline said hastily 
 
 "Oh, do look round, now you are here. I I I really 
 
 think " She lowered her voice : "Miss Harriet, would 
 
 it not be a mark of respect to poor Mr. Cranbie if you 
 bought something at the sale?" 
 
 Miss Harriet and Miss Amelia glanced at each other, 
 pausing on their outward way. 
 
 "It is, of course, occasioned by his death," allowed 
 Miss Harriet; "I had a great respect for Mr. Cranbie." 
 
 "Served us well many years a sort of last tribute," 
 fluttered Miss Amelia, beginning to hope again. 
 
 And after a few more such remarks the ladies returned 
 to the centre of the shop, where they were soon eagerly 
 discussing odd lengths of delicate ribbons such as ap- 
 peared in the age of crinolines, and had remained since 
 that easy, flowery time in the dark drawers and corners 
 of the old place. 
 
 A little later Pauline saw them pricing some petticoats 
 which hung in a long row above a centre counter, and 
 as Miss Harriet pulled a lavender one aside, her nose 
 almost came into contact with the nose of Mrs. Delamere. 
 Both ladies, though they were ladies in the highest sense 
 of the word, had for one moment the appearance of two 
 denizens of the jungle suddenly encountered through an 
 undergrowth where each had thought herself alone. 
 
 Then Mrs. Delamere recovered, flashed eyes and teeth 
 in a perfect ecstasy of welcome, and remarked 
 
 "I am looking for the stocking counter. So confusing, 
 this sale. I think I shall leave my stockings for a few 
 days." 
 
 "Oddly enough," said Miss Harriet, "that was also our 
 errand."
 
 CRANBIE'S SALE 57 
 
 "Stockings this way, madam," said the attentive shop- 
 walker behind. 
 
 So there was no help for it, and they were obliged to 
 purchase the stockings which neither needed, after which 
 it seemed as if a general exodus must ensue; but as Miss 
 Harriet passed the "Splendid Materials Marked Down to 
 One Shilling per Yard," she hesitated, then bent close to 
 Mrs. Delamere and whispered solemnly: "Poor Mr. 
 Cranbie! I really feel, after so many years of faithful 
 service just one or two lengths don't you?" 
 
 "Well," admitted Mrs. Delamere, "perhaps we ought. 
 I did not see it in that light before. I dare say, poor 
 man, he would be gratified if he could only know." 
 
 "Perhaps he does know," said Miss Amelia in a low 
 voice, with an eye on the brown alpaca. 
 
 And in this spirit they felt able to turn over the bales 
 and remnants for so long a time that the salesman's 
 smooth hair grew rough and his spruce collar crumpled, 
 as he assisted them to choose between French merino 
 and cashmere. 
 
 Pauline had completed her own purchases long before 
 they emerged, and she was glad to escape alone, for her 
 head began to ache again badly from the close air of the 
 shop. It was pretty certain that the ladies would need 
 tea and refreshment and would call upon Aunt Dickson 
 to recount their bargains now these could be placed in 
 an almost memorial light, so she went past the house 
 and into the open country. 
 
 The day was 1 pleasant with the hedgerows bursting 
 into leaf, and as she took her accustomed way along the 
 Ryeford Road her thoughts cleared and lightened, every- 
 one knows how, who loves walking in the country. She 
 lost the sensation of a mind clogged by cotton-wool which 
 had made her unable to face the daily round of callers 
 and luncheon followed by translating part of a Russian 
 novel the Russian language being one of the difficulties
 
 58 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 she had desperately overthrown during that fierce fight 
 for efficiency in London. 
 
 As she passed the scarecrow it seemed to stand with a 
 degenerate, music-hall rakishness amid the springing 
 corn, hat cocked and dismal trousers fluttering, the same 
 pitiful travesty of fun. But it recalled to her memory 
 the old times when she had taken holiday after a week's 
 hard work. She had wanted to laugh they had all seized 
 so eagerly on anything that advertised laughter. It was 
 the same with sick people and patent medicines . . . the 
 desperate pathos of life . . . 
 
 Her wandering thoughts stopped suddenly, with a 
 jerk. At first she almost thought the man's figure stag- 
 gering out of the Dragon must be a figment of the brain, 
 a materialised memory of those same holiday evenings. 
 Then she saw it was Unwin, still wearing his evening 
 clothes from the night before. He looked ghastly in the 
 morning sunshine with rough hair and shirt-front rumpled, 
 and leaned back against the door-post of the inn. 
 
 Pauline turned sharp round and ran back for a long 
 way down the road, feeling strangely outraged, though 
 she had seen such a sight in London often enough and 
 had only been casually disgusted. Men were so, she had 
 supposed, taking the ugly philosophy of the streets. But 
 here it seemed different, here it seemed horrible. 
 
 Even when she was home again and sitting quietly be- 
 fore her own writing-table, she still felt something within 
 her tremble at the shock, and work seemed impossible. 
 But she had the habit of concentration and sat on, doing 
 badly and tearing up, until she could translate the por- 
 tion she had intended to do. 
 
 Aunt Dickson sat by the fire playing patience before 
 going to bed, and Pauline looked across at the big, kindly 
 face which wore now an expression of dull endurance, 
 purely physical. As soon as the girl spoke, however, the
 
 CRANBIE'S SALE 59 
 
 old woman's brave spirit flashed out through the tired 
 body and it was jolly Aunt Dickson again. 
 
 "Won't you put away the cards and talk for a while?" 
 said Pauline. 
 
 ' ' I thought you seemed tired. You have scarcely spoken 
 a word since tea. You like to read in an evening some- 
 times, of course." 
 
 ''I'm not a bit tired. Well " and Pauline began 
 
 to tell about Cranbie's sale and the day's doings. In a 
 few minutes Aunt Dickson had forgotten she was old and 
 ill and not far from the end of life, and was laughing 
 heartily. 
 
 : "Ha-ha! So it was you who suggested buying things 
 out of respect to Mr. Cranbie. But it showed a nice feel- 
 ing on their part," she added, ever charitable. "And 
 where did you go after that?" 
 
 "For a walk on the Ryeford Road. Aunt Dickson " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I saw Mr. Unwin come staggering out of the Dragon 
 in the dress clothes he was wearing last night. He looked 
 dreadful. I can't get it out of my mind." 
 
 ' ' Oh ! ' ' Aunt Dickson 's face puckered into concern 
 until her little bright eyes were almost hidden. "Oh, I 
 am so sorry. If only one could do anything. Poor boy ! ' ' 
 
 "It's disgraceful! He ought to be ashamed," said 
 Pauline. "He has no excuse." 
 
 "Perhaps it is this quiet place. We must ask him here 
 more, Pauline, though it is rather troublesome having 
 gentlemen to dinner with only Eva. But I dare say he 
 has not enough society and gets drawn to public houses 
 like the young men one reads about. I fear we Wendle- 
 bury people are to blame." 
 
 "Aunt Dickson!" exclaimed Pauline, jumping up, "I 
 do believe if you met the devil you'd say 'Poor fellow, I 
 expect he mixed with goats in his early youth, and horns 
 are so infectious!' "
 
 60 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "No, no but poor young Unwin " murmured Aunt 
 
 Dickson apologetically, and the ladies retired to bed. 
 
 A tea-party was taking place at Aunt Dickson 's and 
 Miss Argle sat alone by the tea-table, which still groaned 
 with queen cakes and ladies' fingers, though tea was al- 
 ready over. The other guests gathered round Aunt Dick- 
 son's chair and looked at some fine crochet with their 
 backs purposely turned to Miss Argle, who opened her 
 black satin bag and hastily stowed away as many cakes as 
 it would hold. And so deeply had the Wendlebury change 
 affected Pauline that she forgot to think this odd, though 
 at first she had been paralysed with amazement and pity. 
 It seemed to her so terribly pitiful that a little old lady 
 like a Dresden china curate's wife should be driven by 
 hunger to such expedients. 
 
 Then she discovered that Miss Argle was quite comfort- 
 ably off, and that the cake-stealing was just an aristocratic 
 echo, which all Wendlebury understood, from those royster- 
 ing times when Argles sallied forth from Argle Tower to 
 lift their neighbours' cattle. This foible in an otherwise 
 perfectly sane and ordinary member of society had not 
 been lopped off summarily because such growths do sur- 
 vive in very quiet places, and Pauline never felt sure that 
 the Wendlebury ladies did not vaguely enjoy being thus 
 so distantly connected with the adventurous past. 
 
 When the party left and Pauline returned to her trans- 
 lating upstairs, Miss Argle stayed on because she greatly 
 enjoyed Aunt Dickson 's society, though she and Mrs. Dela- 
 mere who occupied together the summit of Wendlebury 
 society always apologised to each other for this prefer- 
 ence by saying that "poor Mrs. Dickson was so kind- 
 hearted" a remark made by some people when they de- 
 sire to visit any one not very high in the social scale whom 
 a good deal may be got-out-of. At any rate, here sat Miss 
 Argle and Aunt Dickson together in a pleasant room be-
 
 CRANBIE'S SALE 61 
 
 fore a bright fire, While the streets outside looked rather 
 cold and grey in the spring evening. 
 
 " I 'm glad you stayed, ' ' said Aunt Dickson ; " I wanted 
 to ask you a favour." 
 
 "Of course. Only I am afraid I promised faithfully 
 not to pass on the recipe for gooseberry jelly. Mrs. Dela- 
 mere's cook " 
 
 "It's not the jelly. But now you mention Mrs. Dela- 
 mere I want you to use your influence with her as well." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 Aunt Dickson hesitated, but the thought of young Un- 
 win leaning in a drunken stupor against the portal of the 
 Dragon Inn made her go on. 
 
 "Wendlebury might be considered a dull place " 
 
 "I never find it dull." And Miss Argle 's tone inferred 
 that if she did not 
 
 "Nor I," responded Miss Dickson. "But a young man 
 like Mr. Unwin might do so. There is very little gaiety 
 in the evenings because our parties are nearly all for 
 luncheon or tea. A young man might, for want of any- 
 thing else, go to a public-house, say?" 
 
 "If he is that kind of young man ..." began Miss 
 Argle. 
 
 "Nobody is to start with, or very few. But if none 
 of his own class ask him out he gets lonely. You have 
 to make allowances. I think we ought to invite Mr. Un- 
 win out more in the evenings." 
 
 "Has he ?" Miss Argle paused. "What a dread- 
 ful pity ! Such a nice young man ! He was particularly 
 pleasant about the dress-suit, and never said a word after- 
 wards, though nobody wore one but himself and my 
 nephew and they looked rather conspicuous. I would do 
 anything I could, but I usually retire early, after a light 
 meal, bread and milk or something of that kind." She 
 paused. ' ' Oh, I see ! You were thinking about Mrs. Dela- 
 mere in that connection. She certainly does seem to be the 
 only lady in Wendlebury who has meat cooked in the
 
 62 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 evening. I always consider it almost a little unrefined 
 in a lady to take meat after sunset. Still, in her posi- 
 tion . . . accustomed to it ... not but what the Ar- 
 gles . . ." 
 
 "No one has a better right than the Argles," said 
 Aunt Dickson, in perfect good faith, with no flippant ref- 
 erence to the cattle-lifting past. 
 
 "But is this true about young Unwin?" said Miss 
 Argle. "He looks so so undrunken, if you know what 
 I mean?" 
 
 Aunt Dickson shook her head, genuinely grieved and 
 anxious. 
 
 "There's no doubt of it. Pauline saw him on the 
 morning after Lord South water's lecture come stagger- 
 ing out of the Green Dragon at Ryeford still in his dress 
 clothes." 
 
 ' ' Oh dear ! Oh dear ! I wish I had not persuaded him 
 to wear them," said Miss Argle, greatly distressed. "Not 
 that it makes any real difference, only it seems more 
 more ribald, somehow. Of course, I'll do my best." 
 
 They talked on for some time in lowered tones, and on 
 parting Miss Argle said very solemnly 
 
 "It would be an awful thing if we had that young 
 man's soul to answer for at the Last Day!" 
 
 For an instant the pleasant room faded, and they had 
 a vision of themselves standing with the other Wendle- 
 bury ladies in a ring round the throne of God. It was 
 quite simple and very real. Miss Argle kissed Aunt Dick- 
 son a mark of affection usually bestowed only on Mrs. 
 Delamere and went out. 
 
 A little later Eva came to remove the tea-things. Tak- 
 ing up the empty queen-cake dish she remarked cheer- 
 fully 
 
 "Rum how things is!" 
 
 "Eh, Eva?" said Aunt Dickson, who had been nod- 
 ding. 
 
 "I said things was rum. If some folks was to steal
 
 CRANBIE'S SALE 63 
 
 cakes nobody would speak to 'em, even if they was ladies 
 born. Same as old Ducky Bill in our village that nabbed 
 eggs by the score for years and nothing happened, and 
 Ginger Walker did it once and got taken up. ' ' 
 
 "It is a mystery," said Aunt Dickson sleepily. 
 
 "Yes, 'm. Like where pins goes to," agreed Eva. 
 "Well, as my mother used to say, guessing about what 
 you know you can't know is like eating sour apples. 
 You've only yourself to blame when your inside gets un- 
 settled. But us Martins was always guessers." 
 
 "Eva," said Aunt Dickson, rousing herself; "about 
 those cakes. . . . You really must not say that Miss Argle 
 took them." 
 
 "I never named no names, 'm," muttered Eva, closing 
 the door. "But things is rum and nobody on earth can't 
 make out any different."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 STRANGERS 
 
 OUT of the unimportant world which surrounds Wen- 
 dlebury came two strangers about the same time. 
 One was an active, hit-you-on-the-eye-or-convert-you, 
 Church of England missionary, and the other was a young- 
 ish untidy woman, with a queer air of having been hunted 
 through life. They actually travelled down in the same 
 train, which is another proof, if any were needed, of the 
 truth of Eva's theory about the eternal rumness of things; 
 but while the gentleman took his big, bright, Christian 
 way to the Vicarage, the lady hastened along towards the 
 Ryeford Road. When about half-way between Wendle- 
 bury and the Green Dragon, she saw a very small funeral 
 coming along the road and stood quite still to let it pass. 
 Unwin rode with Doctor Carter in Chubb 's cab, and there 
 was the hearse, and that was all. 
 
 The woman turned very white and ran a step or two 
 after the cab. 
 
 "Whose funeral is that?" she called, and both Unwin 
 and the doctor peered out amazed at this woman who 
 could disturb a funeral procession. 
 
 "Hi! Cabby!" she shouted in a high, shrill voice, 
 "Tell me! Do you hear? Tell me!" 
 
 Chubb glanced round, outraged. 
 
 "Get away, woman!" 
 
 She ran forward and clutched her hands on the door 
 of the slow-moving cab, thrusting her dark face in at the 
 window. 
 
 "Won't you tell me?" 
 
 64
 
 STRANGERS 65 
 
 "The name is Johnson. He was a stranger who took 
 ill at the inn and died there." Dr. Carter cleared his 
 throat. "He he left nothing. He had a small annuity 
 which died with him." 
 
 The woman's sallow face flushed crimson, then she 
 grew very pale again. 
 
 "I didn't " She stopped short. "Thank you." 
 
 Then she dropped behind and they saw her no more. 
 "No use telling her the name is really Delamere, even 
 if she knows," said Dr. Carter. 
 
 "No. Poor chap, he wanted to be buried as Johnson. 
 "What strange things happen!" 
 
 "If you were a doctor, you'd soon learn to find nothing 
 strange!" 
 
 The vigorous clergyman greeted the Vicar on his re- 
 turn home from the funeral with a robust Christian jollity. 
 He thought that the brethren should give the impres- 
 sion of religious hustle, as if they really were beginning 
 to rush people along the road to heaven. And he had 
 barely eaten his first piece of toast before he was endeav- 
 ouring to wrench from the Vicar the besetting sin of 
 "Wendlebury, in order that he might go for it that evening 
 and keep on going for it during the whole three days 
 of the mission. 
 
 "Specialise! Concentrate! You want efficiency in re- 
 ligion as in all else," said the Missioner, standing with 
 his back to the fire ; and the Vicar, who had always held 
 himself to be more energetic and hard-working than the 
 average, suddenly felt wobbling and purposeless. 
 
 "But I couldn't really say. There is no outstanding 
 sin rampant here so far as I know." 
 
 "My dear fellow, I know by experience how one be- 
 comes dulled through the daily routine. But there must 
 be some special fault that wants dealing . with ; there al- 
 ways is. Drink?" 
 
 "No. I should call "Wendlebury a sober place." Then
 
 66 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 the Vicar's eye brightened, and he felt he had found a 
 sin before being made to look hopelessly incompetent. "I 
 think gossip would be a good subject. There is a great 
 deal of gossiping always in a small place." 
 
 "Ha!" said the Missioner, as if it were a live animal 
 that he was catching by the tail and pinning down. ' ' I '11 
 concentrate on that then. Thank you!" 
 
 "Another cup of tea?" said the Vicar's wife, coldly, 
 from the sofa. She felt that the sins of AYendlebury 
 were entirely the Vicar's affair, and that the Missioner 's 
 violent interest in them was a sort of spiritual poaching. 
 
 But in the evening it appeared that the man was indeed 
 a stirring preacher. He shocked Miss Harriet terribly 
 by making almost what might be called jokes in the pul- 
 pit, but she did think, all the same, that what he said was 
 extraordinarily applicable to Miss Argle, while Miss Argle 
 was greatly struck by some remarks which seemed really 
 made for Miss Harriet. The peroration was strong, mov- 
 ing, abruptly-ending, and they all came out wondering 
 how those felt for whom it had been so peculiarly fitted. 
 
 But Miss Amelia being one of the very few who took 
 it to themselves said nothing as she walked away under 
 the stars, amongst a group of ladies in last year's hats 
 brightened with new flowers. She was considering one 
 piece of advice given by the practical Missioner, which was 
 to put a finger on the lip when about to gossip, and to 
 say inwardly: "Keep Thou the door of my lips." 
 
 At Miss Argle 's door the ladies parted and tripped home 
 separately or in couples between the narrow white houses. 
 About it all brooded a wonderful security and peace which 
 they did not realise at all or it could have been no longer 
 theirs. 
 
 "Well, a good many people ought to have burning ears 
 to-night," said Miss Harriet in a satisfied tone, as soon 
 as they were alone. "It would not do Pauline Westcott 
 any harm. I saw her just in front of me. She over- 
 dresses for her station, I consider."
 
 STRANGERS 67 
 
 "Yes, they say she " began Miss Amelia, then 
 
 clapped her hand on her lips and whispered something. 
 
 "What's the matter?" demanded Miss Harriet, not un- 
 naturally. 
 
 But Miss Amelia did not say, her religion being a very 
 shy and secret thing between herself and her Maker. 
 
 Unwin walked along the little streets between his 
 office and the Bowling Green Inn feeling very cheerful, 
 though he had been truly grieved by Delamere's lonely 
 end. But it takes a deep and personal grief to depress 
 a young man who has almost attained the position he 
 would have chosen for himself had the world been given 
 him to choose from; and Lord Southwater's last letter 
 was written in terms which left little doubt that the next 
 would contain a definite offer. Unwin was wise enough 
 to know how very rarely it happens in life that a man can 
 follow his own trade and earn a good living, and yet do 
 that which he loves best and will best bring out all the 
 powers of his soul and intellect. So it is not surprising 
 that he called a cheerful good-day to Mrs. Chubb when he 
 encountered her hurrying along the pavement ; but he 
 was astonished to see her stop, gasp, goggle and pant out, 
 holding on to his sleeve lest he should walk on before 
 she could find breath: "Judgment . . . fortune-telling 
 . . . edged fire . . . for God's sake go in at that open 
 door while I run for oil, and see if she's smouldering." 
 
 Mrs. Chubb let go his sleeve as suddenly and bolted 
 up the street, leaving him staring after her. But as it 
 is obviously impossible to leave any person smouldering 
 while you speculate, he turned round, ran to the indi- 
 cated door, and followed a smell into a darkened room. 
 
 At first he could distinguish nothing after the strong, 
 spring light outside, then he saw a candle burning in the 
 gloom, and at last a white face looking out at him with a 
 dreadful expectancy over the candle 
 
 "You you've brought some message?"
 
 68 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Then he recognised the woman who had peered into 
 Chubb 'a cab as it followed Delamere to the grave. He 
 shook his head, feeling he would have given worlds to 
 tell her a comforting lie; but he could not lie with those 
 eyes upon him. 
 
 "How ridiculous!" She stepped back, trying to laugh. 
 "I don't know what I said that for. . . . Suppose I was 
 startled by your bursting into the rooms. What do you 
 want?" 
 
 "Mrs. Chubb sent me. She she said you were smoul- 
 dering." 
 
 Then, in spite of the misery in her eyes, the woman 
 did genuinely laugh. 
 
 "It was not me, only a bit of my sleeve and my land- 
 lady r s antimacassar. But Mrs. Chubb had just asked to 
 have her fortune told curiosity warring against con- 
 science and getting the best of it and she thought hell-fire 
 had combusted spontaneously. I dare say the darkened 
 room and all that scared her. This black yashmak and 
 drawn curtains in the daytime are my modern substitute 
 for the witches' cat, you see." 
 
 She talked quickly, her voice high and reedy with the 
 excitement of controlled emotion and yet resolutely gay. 
 Unwin felt something in himself respond to her so strongly 
 that it leapt over the first barriers of this strange ac- 
 quaintanceship and made him blurt out suddenly 
 
 "What on earth ever made you do it?" 
 
 "Oh, well!" She bent forward to look at him and 
 the candle threw queer lights and shadows on her thin 
 face. "You needn't think he had anything to do with 
 it!" she said defensively. 
 
 "No," said Unwin. 
 
 "We met out in Australia, you know. I had enough to 
 exist on ... I have now. Only I can't exist. I must 
 have plenty or starve. So here I am tied to these lodgings 
 until next quarter day, when my remittance comes. And 
 I'm making a bit by fortune-telling, as I always do when
 
 STRANGERS 69 
 
 I get a chance in the lean times." She paused, smiling 
 at him with her odd, rather one-sided, smile. "Garrulous 
 woman, eh? But there's method in my madness. I 
 
 want " Her voice sank in spite of herself from its 
 
 gay note. "I want to be left in peace for a little while.'* 
 
 "You don't suppose '' began Unwin hotly. 
 
 "I didn't know. It was you who sent the letter and 
 the photograph from him. I thought you might be con- 
 nected with the Delameres and want me out of the place. 
 You know I'm the Delia Lambert you wrote to for him." 
 
 "Of course I do." He paused. "But you must be 
 aware that he called himself Johnson while he was in 
 these parts. He was buried as Johnson." 
 
 She looked down, thinking, for quite a long time. 
 
 "So it came to that, did it?" she said at last. "Then 
 nobody knows but you and me?" 
 
 "Dr. Carter knows also, but he will never tell," said 
 Unwin. "Poor Delamere had such a strong wish; and 
 it's all we can do for him now to keep quiet." 
 
 "Are you afraid I shall try to get anything out of 
 Lord South water or Mrs. Delamere? You needn't be." 
 She broke off. "Good God! You don't suppose I want 
 to advertise. . . . But it was like him, wasn't it? to for- 
 get me for years and then send me that letter and photo- 
 graph when he was dying ? I never knew such a sentimen- 
 talist . . . and yet ..." 
 
 "That's just it," said Unwin. "You couldn't help 
 loving him." 
 
 "You felt that too?" she said, and a beautiful change 
 came over her face, making the mocking lips tender and 
 the eyes wide, for she was finding that greatest human 
 comfort of all mourners in meeting some one who had 
 loved the dead. "I was at the funeral," she continued 
 in a low voice. "And when it was all over I just crept 
 into the Bowling Green Inn. I I couldn't go away." 
 
 Unwin went nearer to her and put his hand on her 
 arm.
 
 70 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "Poor girl! Poor girl!" 
 
 "Oh, I'm all right here," she said quickly. "These 
 rooms are very cheap because my landlady is a little work- 
 ing dressmaker who is out all day. She is a kind soul, 
 and tells her ladies about me in strictest confidence, and 
 they all say how foolish and wrong fortune-telling is." 
 
 "That's a nuisance," said Unwin. 
 
 "Oh, they come all the same," said Delia, with her 
 sudden, odd smile. 
 
 He smiled responsive, but she looked so fragile with 
 such a different fragility to Pauline's so battered by life, 
 that it was like seeing a woman push a load too heavy for 
 her strength. He was impelled to try and push too. 
 
 "Look here," he said, "you must let me help you." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "But I don't need any help, thank you. And so far 
 as that goes ..." She grew grave and tender again. 
 "Oh, you'll never know how you have helped me." 
 
 "But let me do something. There must be something 
 I can do for you," he urged. 
 
 "All right," she said. "You can stay here while I 
 go upstairs to change my singed blouse, and reassure 
 Mrs. Chubb. I don't want her to go away with the idea 
 that there is anything seriously satanic about me for 
 fear she upsets my little dressmaker and I get turned 
 out." 
 
 "That's nothing," said Unwin. 
 
 She glanced back at him from the doorway with her 
 twisted smile, but there was a keen edge of decision in 
 her tone. 
 
 "It's all I want doing, you see, Sir Knight. The glove 
 is in the arena." 
 
 "Oh, all right," he said quickly. "There is something 
 about Mrs. Chubb rather like a long, wobbly, soiled kid 
 glove now one comes to think of it." 
 
 But as he sat down to wait for Mrs. Chubb and began 
 to think things over, he did realise how very queer it all
 
 STRANGERS 71 
 
 was; here lie sat in a dark room with one candle burning 
 as if he were going to tell fortunes himself. It must be 
 rather a lark, telling fortunes, he thought; and he put 
 on the black silk yashmak to try the full effect of his 
 surroundings. 
 
 He was thus engaged when Mrs. Chubb rushed in with 
 the oil bottle. 
 
 ' ' What ! You 're ready ! You 're all right ? " she panted, 
 breathless. 
 
 And at once a brilliant inspiration came to Unwin. 
 
 "Yes," he whispered, drawing the yashmak closer and 
 placing the candle further away. "I was not burnt at 
 all, only the antimacassar. But I have lost my voice 
 through the shock. I do if I fall downstairs, or or any- 
 thing. Constantly doing it ... from a child . . . often 
 spanked. ' ' 
 
 "No!" said Mrs. Chubb. "Well, I'm a believer in cor- 
 prill punishment myself. Them lads next door ..." 
 
 "Well, shall we begin?" said Unwin, placing the other 
 chair invitingly in the light while he sat in the shadow. 
 
 "Not for me; thanking you all the same," said Mrs. 
 Chubb, backing towards the door. 
 
 Unwin wished he had not started the game, for this 
 seemed no way of reassuring Mrs. Chubb; but he felt 
 now bound to go on lest he should make matters worse. 
 
 "But you must want to know just one thing," he 
 whispered insinuatingly, "otherwise you would never 
 have asked me to tell your fortune. Come now, what 
 is it?" 
 
 Mrs. Chubb reluctantly sat down. Then she started 
 up again. 
 
 "What have you done with Mr. Unwin?" 
 
 "Oh, he's all right: had some silly business or other 
 to attend to," said Unwin hastily. 
 
 "Um, he generally has," said Mrs. Chubb, reassured 
 by such a common-sense supposition and seating herself
 
 72 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 once more. "He is a silly young fool at the best o* 
 times. ' ' 
 
 "H'h'm!" said Tin win, turning his sudden chuckle into 
 a cough. "But do let us start now, Mrs. Chubb, and for- 
 get all about him." 
 
 "Well, just for the joke of the thing. There's nothing 
 in it, of course. I suppose you want my hand?" 
 
 "N-no," said Unwin, spurred on by this new difficulty 
 and hiding his own under the table. "I just gaze into 
 the future." 
 
 "Um," said Mrs. Chubb, "I've see a-many gipsies do 
 it, and they always took hold of your hand. I suppose 
 real professionals does." She sighed. "Well, I was going 
 to ask you if I should get another husband when Chubb 's 
 gone? I've often wondered that, hearing him snoring at 
 nights and thinking how lonesome I shall be." 
 
 "But you're both about the same age. Perhaps you'll 
 die first," said Unwin, hastily ranging himself among the 
 husbands of the world. 
 
 "Then you can't tell me. I thought not, not want- 
 ing me hand nor nothing." She rose. "There was one 
 more question " 
 
 "Do ask it, Mrs. Chubb," interposed Unwin in an 
 urgent whisper, anxious to retrieve his mistake. "Please 
 do ask it." 
 
 "Well, as I am here. Does Chubb ... I mean is there 
 ..." She paused, finding a difficulty. "You see Chubb 's 
 such a taking man with the ladies." And she threw her- 
 self thus on the hearer's understanding. 
 
 "You wish to know, in short," said Unwin, with great 
 solemnity, "if you have a rival?" 
 
 Mrs. Chubb nodded, her round eyes almost supernat- 
 urally round in her pale moon-face. 
 
 "He's such a taking man, you see. It isn't him I 
 blame." 
 
 "Of course not," agreed Unwin. "Wait a moment. 
 Keep Bilence. Hush! I see ..."
 
 STRANGERS 73 
 
 "Not that widder next door!" 
 
 "Brown hair . . . large . . . very large ... I can't 
 quite ..." 
 
 "The hussy! I thought so. Twelve stone if she's a 
 pound. And her hair dyed as sure as my name 's Chubb. ' ' 
 
 "I see ... legs . . ." 
 
 "Ma'am," cried Mrs. Chubb, " you've gone far enough 
 for me ! " 
 
 "Two, three, four. Mrs. Chubb, I see four legs. 
 
 It's " he relapsed into his ordinary tone, "it's 
 
 Griselda!" 
 
 "Ah!" shrieked Mrs. Chubb, jumping up and pulling 
 at the yashmak. "It's you! You and your Tom-fool 
 tricks ! I might ha ' known ! ' ' 
 
 "You never would," said Unwin, "but for the fact 
 that I couldn't, after all, sow life-long dissension between 
 you and Chubb." 
 
 "Take shame to yourself, Mr. Unwin," said Mrs. Chubb. 
 "You're the very one to get mixed up with fortune-telling 
 and all that, you are!" 
 
 "Come to that," said Unwin, for a worm will turn, "it 
 was you who sent me in here, you know. ' ' 
 
 "It was," said Mrs. Chubb, "and I ought to have 
 known better. I ought to have known that sending you 
 into a rum affair would only make it rummer. Where's 
 that poor young lady?" 
 
 He was so immensely relieved to find from Mrs. Chubb 's 
 tone that she had now ranged herself on the side of all 
 the women in the world against him, that he called gaily 
 up the stairs 
 
 "Miss Lambert! Miss Lambert! Show yourself be- 
 fore I go! Mrs. Chubb thinks I've murdered you and 
 hidden the remains in the coal-cellar." 
 
 She emerged on the top of the steep, narrow staira and 
 stood smiling down on them. 
 
 "Isn't he a goose, Mrs. Chubb?" 
 
 But Mrs. Chubb 's fluency had deserted her, and *he
 
 74 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 was once more fish-like, opening her lips without sound. 
 At last, however, she murmured 
 
 "Kettle's boiling!" 
 
 So Unwin was able to depart with the comfortable con- 
 viction that Mrs. Chubb and Delia Lambert would wash 
 down the last flavour of brimstone in a friendly cup of 
 tea. 
 
 The ladies over their cups naturally discussed him. 
 
 "He's a young fool, always up to some prank or an- 
 other," remarked Mrs. Chubb. 
 
 Miss Lambert smiled and shook her head. "Fools 
 can't fool!" 
 
 Mrs. Chubb stared, opened her mouth and then placed 
 a bit of bread-and-butter within it. She at once and ir- 
 revocably placed her companion in the same class. 
 
 Outside in the street Unwin encountered Pauline hurry- 
 ing towards the house which he had just left, and some 
 vague instinct made him desire to turn her back. He 
 liked Pauline, and he liked Delia, but he felt, quite 
 vaguely, that they were best apart. So he stopped in spite 
 of an absolute lack of encouragement. 
 
 "Off to the fortune-teller's, eh?" 
 
 But Pauline saw between them the picture of him lean- 
 ing against the door-post of the Dragon, and so responded 
 nervously 
 
 1 ' Just for the . fun of it. I don 't really believe . . . 
 Have you been?" 
 
 "Yes, but she is off-colour this afternoon, had a slight 
 accident. I would put off going if I were you ! ' ' 
 
 "Did you have your fortune told?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 Pauline stood hesitating. 
 
 "It was more for Aunt Dickson; she does so want to 
 hear all about the dark room and that. You know how 
 she loves to be in things."
 
 STRANGERS 75 
 
 "She is. She's the still point in the midst of all the 
 "Wendlebury wheels," said Unwin, laughing. 
 
 "Oh, she'd be so disappointed, I must go on," said 
 Pauline, taking a new resolution. 
 
 So he was obliged to part from her, wondering a little 
 at the aloof constraint of her bow and her manner gener- 
 ally. He began to turn over in his mind all he had said 
 and done in her presence during the past weeks, but 
 lie remembered nothing which could by any possibility 
 have given her offence. It worried him intermittently 
 all day, and once when he awoke in the night. 
 
 Pauline meanwhile went on feeling quite out of tune 
 for the fortune-telling which had seemed such a joke when 
 she started out. She could only think how sad and in- 
 credible was the fact that Unwin drank, and wish there 
 were anything she could do to help him. But the idea 
 of mentioning the subject to him, which she sometimes har- 
 boured in his absence, became impossible in his presence. 
 You simply could not, in the face of that pleasant, buoy- 
 ant friendliness, hand him even a verbal tract. 
 
 But the result of all this was that she sat down in the 
 darkened room which was far less impressive than the 
 palmist's den which she had previously seen in London 
 and listened with only half an ear to the warnings and 
 promises of her future. Only at the end did she really 
 attend, when the fortune-teller said, smiling 
 
 ' ' You have never cared for a man. But you could ! ' ' 
 
 "I've never had time, until lately," laughed Pauline, 
 rising. "Perhaps Wendlebury will do it." 
 
 Delia had risen now she was a little taller than Pau- 
 line and had taken off her black cloak. The two women 
 stood together. 
 
 "Keep aloof as you are," said Delia suddenly. "That's 
 best. You're like me. You'll know no middle course in 
 love." 
 
 Pauline drew herself up, somehow a little offended. 
 
 "Thank you so much. It has been delightful."
 
 76' THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Then she walked away with her head delicately in the 
 air, and did not notice Miss Amelia, who passed on the 
 other side of the way so veiled and cloaked that the very 
 cat on the sidewalk eyed her suspiciously, knowing it for 
 a disguise. 
 
 "Not," as she said wistfully to Delia, five minutes 
 later, "that I expect anything to happen. Only it is rather 
 nice to feel for a little while as if you thought you were 
 expecting something to happen." 
 
 And Delia, sore put to it, tried to tell her customer a 
 fairy tale which should cheer the present and not make 
 the future too utterly disappointing. In the middle of 
 it all, Miss Amelia raised a trembling hand. 
 
 "Don't tell me if I am to be run over or anything of 
 that kind. I would rather not know. I have not a strong 
 intelligence like my sister and it might prey on my mind." 
 
 So Delia reassured her, and she went away feeling ad- 
 venturous and happy, turning at the last to remark in a 
 confidential tone 
 
 ' ' I believe I saw Miss Pauline Westcott. I do trust you 
 were able to tell her something nice." 
 
 "I was," said Delia, smiling. 
 
 "I urn glad of that," sighed Miss Amelia, relieved. 
 "Miss Pauline is all right with Mrs. Dickson now she is 
 young, but it is rather nice to have some one of your 
 very own when you get older, is it not?" 
 
 Then she went away; and Mrs. Chubb also emerging at 
 the same moment with the inevitable bass, the two collided 
 in the narrow passage and reached the street together. 
 
 "Oh!" said Miss Amelia in a soft squeak like a rabbit. 
 "You, Mrs. Chubb! I have just been ... a little mat- 
 ter about a serge skirt." And she was able to satisfy her 
 conscience, because she had indeed prepared a truthful 
 message for the dressmaker in case of such an emergency. 
 
 "What did you think of the fortune-teller?" whispered 
 Mrs. Ghubli, passing over all that at a bound.
 
 STRANGERS 77 
 
 And Miss Amelia, wondering what she did thinly sud- 
 denly saw. 
 
 ''I'm sorry for her." 
 
 "You needn't be," said Mrs. Chubb, always vaguely 
 ready to discountenance giving, for fear there should 
 somehow be less for her. "People who'll have fried sole 
 one day and bread-and-butter the next . . . Well!" 
 
 "I suppose you can do nothing for them," agreed Miss 
 Amelia with a sigh. 
 
 "What would the world be like if we were all like 
 that?" demanded Mrs. Chubb, annoyed by this latent tol- 
 eration. 
 
 "No. No. But one or two. They seem somehow to 
 make a change," murmured Miss Amelia. "And I don't 
 think they ever get anything out of it for themselves ex- 
 cepting, perhaps, making fun. ..." Here she became 
 too involved, even for her, and stopped. 
 
 "Fun!" said Mrs. Chubb. "That's Mr. Unwin'a word. 
 What's the use of fun to anybody? There'll be no fun 
 in heaven ! ' ' 
 
 But Miss Amelia had been a good deal stirred by her 
 afternoon's adventure, and though she made no reply 
 a wistful thought passed through her mind that she 
 rather hoped there would be; she would rather like a 
 chance to make up for lost time here.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 LADIES IN A CHAE-A-BANO 
 
 AUNT DICKSON migrated like the birds every spring, 
 and gained from the journey a like sense of jollity 
 and things beginning well again, though she only went 
 with her chair and her adaptable tortoise from the fire- 
 place to the window, where she sat nodding and smiling at 
 every friend who passed by. Dr. Carter and the news- 
 girl both felt heartened, as one is by swallows coming 
 back, though the doctor was a careworn man knowing too 
 much of life, and the news-girl a cynic with a constant 
 cold in her head who knew too little. 
 
 After a while Aunt Dickson raised herself in her chair 
 and stood up, waving her hand to a long, old-fashioned, 
 red-seated char-a-banc which went past filled with ladies. 
 They all waved back to her, sleeves and laces fluttering, 
 dogs barked, the fine rain slanted across the street with 
 an April gleam behind it though this was the first week 
 in May. Miss Amelia, bowing and smiling right and left, 
 remarked : ' ' Dear me ! I quite feel as if I were in a pro- 
 cession. I don't know why . . . very foolish. But I have 
 that sort of elated feeling I can imagine our dear Royal 
 family to experience when passing down Constitution 
 Hill." 
 
 "What nonsense you talk, Amelia," said Miss Harriet, 
 "and, Pauline, why on earth does Mrs. Dickson not have 
 a bath-chair?" 
 
 "She won't," said Pauline; "she hates it!" 
 
 "You ought to make her," said Miss Harriet. 
 
 "I've tried my best," answered Pauline, "but the only 
 
 78
 
 LADIES IN A CHAR-A-BANC 79 
 
 time I succeeded she was not so well afterwards and Dr. 
 Carter told me to leave her alone." 
 
 ''Very unreasonable," said Miss Harriet. 
 
 Then Unwin leaned forward from his hidden place 
 between the flowing rain-cloaks of Miss Amelia and the 
 Vicar's wife. 
 
 "All really nice people have an unreasonable spot some- 
 where," he said. "My landlady, who is a comparative 
 angel, will sing hymns at 6 a.m. And yet when I told 
 her she was not an angel yet, she gave me notice. She'd 
 always praised the Lord when she was blacking the kitchen 
 grate and always should; so we had to leave it at that, 
 of course." 
 
 It must be explained that Unwin was here simply 
 because the Vicar had come to him that morning and 
 had asked him, not ecclesiastically but as one decent, 
 suffering fellow-man to another, how on earth it was 
 possible to turn up at the Rural Dean's with all these 
 women and not a single man, the curate being suddenly 
 obliged to have a tooth extracted. The Rural Dean would 
 not like it, suitable male members of the congregation 
 being specially invited, and in short the Vicar begged 
 Unwin as a personal favour to join the party. Perhaps 
 he was not altogether without guile in mentioning that 
 Miss Pauline Westcott would also view the magnificent 
 show of bulbs which formed the ostensible reason for the 
 expedition, though he mentioned Mary Carter in the same 
 breath and appeared absolutely unconscious that one girl 
 would be more likely to attract Unwin than the other. 
 
 Some distance behind the char-a-banc came Chubb 's 
 cab, open, bearing Mrs. Delamere in solitary state. This 
 was to show that she had been invited, as she said, "in her 
 own right," and not as a member of the congregation. 
 The honour was shared by Miss Argle who, however, had 
 been obliged to remain at home at the last moment owing 
 to the serious illness of Mr. Argle of Argle Hall. 
 
 Miss Harriet, in the char-a-banc, gave this information
 
 80 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 somewhat pompously, and added that the invalid was a 
 remarkably clever man . . . believed in nothing ... all 
 that sort of thing. 
 
 "I wonder," said Miss Amelia, "why people who be- 
 lieve in nothing are always considered so clever. Now I 
 should have thought it was much cleverer ... in these days 
 . . . such awful things happening ..." But she sud- 
 denly realised every one was listening to her and tailed 
 off into an embarrassed silence. 
 
 Then the rain cleared, and the ladies took off their 
 cloaks with little pleasant twitterings, like birds after a 
 shower; the Vicar leaned back from the box-seat with 
 quite a jovial, man-of-the-world air, saying it was uncom- 
 mon pleasant. Unwin looked across at Pauline's vivid 
 face as she talked to breezy, hockey-playing, kindly Mary 
 Carter and thought the same. 
 
 "Pity Miss Argle is not here," said the Vicar's wife. 
 
 "All the more cakes " began Miss Amelia and then 
 
 put her finger on her lip and muttered. 
 
 The Vicar's wife naturally looked surprised, and Miss 
 Harriet whispered sharply to her sister 
 
 "Amelia, you are always doing that! It is a dreadful 
 habit: like biting one's nails. Any one might think you 
 were not quite right in your head." 
 
 But Miss Amelia clung to this little secret between 
 herself and her Maker and said nothing, though she felt 
 dreadfully uncomfortable. 
 
 At last the vehicle turned in at the wide gates and the 
 Rural Dean stood before his handsome doorway, giving 
 an example, as he perhaps meant to do, of the way in 
 which the Church on earth could, with sufficient private 
 means, approach the ideal of those many mansions which 
 the Wendlebury people thought of during public worship 
 and hoped one day to inhabit. 
 
 Tea was taken in the spacious hall, where a faded, pretty 
 wife was perhaps too kind, and a tall daughter obviously 
 bored. The Wendlebury ladies grew by degrees very.
 
 LADIES IN A CHAR-A-BANC 81 
 
 calm and dignified, even Miss Amelia rising with a little 
 air when the time came to walk among the flower-beds. 
 
 "My dear," she said to Pauline, "it will be pleasant to 
 get out into the garden, will it not? Mr. Unwin will per- 
 haps accompany us." 
 
 So they all scattered among the lovely beds of parrot 
 and May-flowering tulips bordered with purple aubretia 
 and palest golden polyanthus. Everything was wonder- 
 fully fresh and fragrant after the rain, and beyond the 
 hedge of lilac bushes could be seen the grey square tower 
 of a little church a mile and a half away; another, held 
 by the Rural Dean, lay on the far side of the garden. 
 
 Security, unheeded, unrealised, or it could not have 
 been so perfect, lay over the whole place like the beauti- 
 ful spring light for which no one had to be thankful. 
 The Wendlebury ladies in their best dresses stepped along 
 the carefully tended paths, holding their skirts from flow- 
 ery borders still sprayed with the light shower. A young 
 son of the house was laughing with Mary Carter near a 
 sun-dial which said, "I mark only happy hours." Miss 
 Amelia joined the Vicar, and after a little while Mrs. 
 Delamere came forth, flashing her teeth at the Rural Dean 
 who walked beside her. 
 
 A little constraint fell on Unwin and Pauline now they 
 were alone, because since they last met they had thought 
 so much of each other. 
 
 "What church is that?" said Pauline, making talk. 
 
 "Mardyke. It is a tiny church with a very beautiful 
 old window and a fine monument of a Delamere of the 
 sixteenth century. You ought to see it now you are here. ' ' 
 He warmed to his subject. "They're wonderful, these 
 little churches of England. Nothing just like them in the 
 world, standing among the trees and flowers of the church- 
 yards. We shall never really know . . . unless something 
 takes them away from us. Won't you come now and have 
 a look at this one? It's better than bulbs, any day." 
 
 She paused.
 
 82 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "All right. I love old village churches, too. There's 
 something so peaceful ..." 
 
 They began to walk along together, and he took out 
 his watch. 
 
 "Oh! heaps of time, nearly two hours yet. "We shall 
 have to get the key from the village as we go through." 
 He laughed. "Any more ghosts, Miss Pauline?" 
 
 ' ' No. Dear Miss Amelia ! ' ' 
 
 So they talked together of simple things, gathering a 
 few late primroses under the hedge and looking at a bird 's 
 nest carefully, with peering faces near together, and gay 
 hushed voices. 
 
 There was a charm about Pauline to-day, a sort of 
 sexless freshness, which made this walk seem to Unwin 
 like going back to boyhood. And indeed she had been 
 singularly untouched by the usual girlish experiences 
 during her life in London. She worked very hard from 
 morning to night, and her thoughts were full of work, 
 and she never had much trouble with the ' ' questing beast ' ' 
 which is supposed by some to lurk within most male em- 
 ployers of female labour. It may have put its nose forth 
 now and then the world being the world but it perhaps 
 sniffed Pauline's aloof virginity and retired. Any way 
 she remained untouched though not ignorant. 
 
 This aloofness or elusiveness also puzzled Unwin though 
 it did not repel him, because "Wendlebury had changed 
 Pauline and she was now less like a will-o'-the-wisp and 
 more like a steady lamp in a far window guiding some- 
 hody home. It was home Unwin thought of as they stood 
 by the cottage door while the woman looked for the key. 
 
 "It isn't here," she said. "I'll send to the carpenter's 
 for it. He had it mending the pulpit. My girl 11 be after 
 you in a minute." 
 
 But they had looked at all the tombstones grown round 
 with violets and forget-me-nots before a heavy-looking 
 girl of fifteen came towards them, remarking stolidly:
 
 LADIES IN A CHAR-A-BANC 83 
 
 " I 've unlocked the door. I '11 wait here till you 've done. ' ' 
 And she sat down on a flat stone in the sunshine. 
 
 The pleasant, coloured twilight falling through the East 
 window and through the little plain old windows set high 
 in the stone walls seemed solemn to Pauline after the 
 flowers and the blue sky. She watched Unwin with a sort 
 of pricking interest and curiosity as he stood looking about 
 the church, the light on his keen face and steady eyes. If 
 she had not herself seen him outside the Dragon doorway 
 in his tumbled dress clothes she could never have believed 
 him guilty: any suspicion not founded on absolute fact 
 must have vanished like a dream at this moment. 
 
 As it was, she felt a sudden overwhelming kindness 
 and pity. She must help him. She would help him. 
 But how? 
 
 Something deep within her answered, by believing in 
 him; by making him wish to retain that belief unshad- 
 owed; by never letting him glimpse the passing of a 
 shadow . . . 
 
 He was speaking to her from the old choir seats. 
 
 "Look at these; they're grotesque enough. But the 
 chap who carved them meant it ... it wasn't just for 
 money. He felt jolly the day he did that grinning face. 
 He liked doing it. I can just see him, can't you? Good 
 old chap!" 
 
 Unwin passed his hand across the wood with a queer 
 sort of affection and fellowship ; he seemed to be greeting 
 a brother across all the years. They both knew what it 
 was to love the work, not the end of the work only. He 
 had almost forgotten Pauline. 
 
 "You'd have liked to live then?" she said. 
 
 He came back to her, straightening himself. 
 
 "No, no. It's splendid being in this age; better than 
 it ever has been, if you like to make it so." 
 
 She understood, having also been a worker. 
 
 "If you've great luck, and are very strong, perhaps," 
 she said. Then she smiled. "Anyway, you'll have both.-
 
 84 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 the joy in work and the reward, with Lord Southwater. " 
 
 "Yes." He looked round. "This church is the very 
 one he will want me to start on, I expect, if I get the job. 
 The structure is giving in the chancel and he has prom- 
 ised to restore it." 
 
 "You're certain to get the post," said Pauline. "The 
 Vicar told Aunt Dickson how much he liked you. ' ' 
 
 "Well" he walked towards the door "I can't stay 
 in Wendlebury as I am, that's certain. I came because 
 my poor old Dad wrote for me from London when he was 
 beginning to fail and couldn't bear to see the business 
 given up, not realising, somehow, that it had given him 
 up. He was a fine architect, but there is no scope for one 
 now in this neighbourhood. But even if Lord Southwater 
 does not appoint me, I have another string to my bow." 
 
 "What is that?" said Pauline, emerging into the little 
 green churchyard where the girl still sat stolidly half- 
 asleep on her tombstone. 
 
 "A man I knew in London when I was studying has 
 offered me a partnership abroad." 
 
 The waving trees, the green graves, the flowers; they 
 were all printed on Pauline's mind so to remain until she 
 forgot everything. She did not want him to go. With a 
 sudden, startled recognition of her own feeling, she knew 
 that England would never be the same with him not in 
 it. Yet it seemed so ridiculous that one man, almost a 
 stranger, could change England. She pushed the thought 
 aside. 
 
 "Well, there's no fear of that. You won't have to 
 go," she said lightly. 
 
 "I want you to see an old cross by the gate," he said, 
 leaving the subject. And they talked again; as they had 
 done in coming, of little things which did not matter and 
 which matched the pleasant day. 
 
 At last he took out his watch. 
 
 "I say! It is nearly time to go," he exclaimed. "But
 
 LADIES IN A CHAR-A-BANC 85 
 
 I must show you the Delamere monument. It stands in 
 what is now the vestry, so I forgot." 
 
 "Fancy forgetting what we really came to see!" said 
 Pauline, laughing. 
 
 So they passed the girl, apparently asleep on her stone 
 in the sunshine, and once more entered the church. The 
 sixteenth-century Delamere and his wife, with sons and 
 daughters in a lessening row, were now hidden from the 
 worshippers by a cheap red cloth curtain patterned in 
 black, behind which cheeky choir boys donned their sur- 
 plices. 
 
 Pauline looked at the kneeling woman on the church 
 wall. 
 
 "So that's what it all comes to!" 
 
 Unwin smiled at her. 
 
 "You know it doesn't." 
 
 They seemed nearer together than had yesterday ap- 
 peared possible, as they walked down the aisle of the 
 church. 
 
 "You've liked it?" said Unwin, his hand on the great 
 iron latch of the door. 
 
 "Yes," said Pauline . . . and that was all she did say. 
 
 "Will you come with me to Ryecroft Church some 
 afternoon?" he asked, with his hand still on the latch. 
 Then his tone changed and he said sharply 
 
 "By Jove! She's locked us in!" 
 
 ' ' Never ! ' ' said Pauline, also tugging at the door handle. 
 But they forgot their dismay as their fingers touched. A* 
 warm thrill tingled suddenly in every nerve. They drew 
 apart, laughing and with flushed faces. 
 
 "No go!" said Unwin. "But the girl is sure to come 
 back in a minute to fetch her tip. It's that she was hang- 
 ing about for, of course." 
 
 "But why did she lock the door? That is what I can't 
 understand," said Pauline. 
 
 "Oh, she'd wake up and look into the church and think 
 we had sneaked off without giving her anything. This
 
 86 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 is rather a show place in a small way and I daresay she 
 lias been caught like that before," said Unwin. "It 
 "would be while we looked at the monument in the vestry." 
 
 "What?" said Pauline. "Good gracious! Then that 
 means she won't come back! "We're here for the night." 
 
 ' ' Nonsense ! Somebody will miss us when the char-a- 
 ~banc goes back to Wendlebury, " said Unwin. 
 
 "But they won't know where to find us. Oh dear! 
 just fancy what they'll all say!" 
 
 "I can't," said Unwin. 
 
 "Anyway, we shall be found at the early service in 
 the morning." 
 
 "There are no early services. Only one a fortnight," 
 said Unwin. There was a moment's blank silence, then. 
 Pauline said lightly: "How long did that starving 
 champion go without food? What man has done, woman 
 can do." But the feeble jest fell like an irreverence on 
 the cloistered air. Pauline suddenly realised that she 
 felt tired out and sat down in a pew. Unwin sat by 
 lier. The church grew more and more shadowy as the 
 spring day drew to a close. 
 
 The char-a-banc and Chubb 's cab stood on the wide, 
 gravelled space before the fine doorway of the Rural 
 Dean, who was ushering forth the Wendlebury ladies in 
 a splendid glow of duty done. As parson, host, father, 
 liusband and man-of-the-world, he had given a shining 
 exemplar of what could be achieved by goodness, and he 
 was about to be rewarded in this present by dining with 
 the Bracegirdles, where the entrees were beyond praise. 
 But it was already a little late and his wife wished to 
 dress, while his daughter had already retired for that pur- 
 pose, so he was speeding the parting guests with a sort of 
 jovial pomposity. 
 
 "Delighted, my dear fellow, delighted," he said to the 
 Vicar, while alertly aiding the Vicar's wife to enter the 
 char-a-banc. "Hope to see you all again when the roses
 
 LADIES IN A CHAR-A-BANC 87 
 
 are at their best. Good-bye, Mrs. Delamere. Good-bye. 
 So pleased!" 
 
 "Are we all here? Where's Unwin?" said the Vicar. 
 
 "Pauline!" murmured Miss Amelia. 
 
 "Dear, dear!" exclaimed the Vicar; "what is to be 
 done ? ' ' And he felt acutely uncomfortable, for the Rural 
 Dean had twice tactfully informed him of the dinner en- 
 gagement. 
 
 "Let us search the garden," suggested Mary Carter. 
 So she and the young son of the house ran about among 
 the waits and flower beds, to return breathless with the 
 news that neither Pauline nor Unwin were to be found. 
 
 "Disgraceful behaviour!" said Miss Harriet. 
 
 ' ' I never cared much for that girl, ' ' said Mrs. Delamere. 
 
 "But perhaps it is not the girl's fault," said the Vicar. 
 
 "Almost always is, in these cases," snapped the Vicar's 
 wife. "I know at Sunday-school treats ..." 
 
 "If you compare us . . ." began Miss Harriet, very 
 dignified. 
 
 "Oh! I don't! I don't!" said the Vicar's wife. "Only 
 I am so bothered. We can't possibly stay on here any 
 longer when we know they are dying to get rid of us." 
 
 Then Miss Amelia bent forward, rather flushed, with a 
 new suggestion. 
 
 "Why not ask Mrs. Delamere to ride with us and leave 
 Chubb 's cab behind, ready for when they do turn up ? " 
 
 The Rural Dean, who had been anxiously listening, drew 
 a long breath. He thought Miss Amelia a charming, 
 sensible woman. 
 
 "I only wish," he said, "that I could offer our car. But 
 we are using it this evening. Would you kindly do this, 
 Mrs. Delamere?" For that lady sat very straight, pre- 
 tending not to hear and looking very truculent. 
 
 "Let them walk," she said, wishing to show that no 
 cleric could dictate to a sister-in-law of Lord Southwater. 
 
 "Of course, of course," murmured the Rural Dean, 
 mindful of a split in the west wall of his own church that
 
 88 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 would need looking after before long. But lie was very 
 much bothered and glanced at his wife, who was still being 
 tiredly effusive in face of all odds. 
 
 Then Miss Amelia made an unexpected move that 
 changed the whole situation. She got up in the char-a- 
 banc, stumbled between knees to the step, and announced 
 that if Chubb didn't stay, she would, and wild horses 
 should not induce her to do otherwise. 
 
 But Mrs. Delamere remained obdurate, saying in a 
 very grand tone to Chubb: "Pray drive on!" 
 
 Then it was Chubb who provided the sensation. All 
 his old scores against Mrs. Delatfnere rose to his mind and 
 he saw a chance of revenge with all Wendlebury and the 
 Rural Deanery to back him up. It was not in human 
 nature to forgo the opportunity. He got down from his 
 box and stood by Griselda's head, saying stolidly 
 
 "I brefer to stop!" 
 
 "What!" shrieked Mrs. Delamere. 
 
 "I brefer to stop," he repeated. 
 
 "Insolent creature!" cried his fare, alighting agitat- 
 edly. 
 
 "Thank you. So very kind of you," soothed the poor 
 Vicar, assisting her into the char-a-banc. 
 
 The coachman flourished his whip, the hostess and host 
 smiled again, splendid to the last, the Wendlebury ladies 
 waved a grateful farewell through which Miss Amelia 
 remarked in an apologetic tone to Mrs. Delamere 
 
 "I do hope you will forgive me. I had to do it on 
 Pauline's account. After all, it will not matter so much 
 what time she comes home in Chubb 's cab. One always 
 feels that Chubb is so trustworthy." 
 
 But the lady addressed did not reply; she wrapped 
 herself in the mantle of all the Delameres and remained 
 speechless until she arrived at her own door. 
 
 It was almost dark now in the church, and Pauline 
 and her companion sat in moody and fatigued silence.
 
 LADIES IN A CHAE-A-BANC 89 
 
 They had just been trying every door and window for 
 the sixth time, but the little upper windows with their 
 stone mullions could not be passed through by any human 
 being over the age of two, and Un^in had decided to 
 discuss the advisability of breaking the old stained East 
 window. 
 
 "Then you think more of an old window than you 
 do of me," said Pauline sharply. 
 
 "I do," said Unwin, which shows where they had ar- 
 rived. 
 
 "If no one comes, I shall break the old thing myself," 
 said Pauline, starting up. 
 
 He caught hold of her. 
 
 "No, you won't. And I don't believe you could squeeze 
 through the mullions if you did." 
 
 She pulled herself away feeling nothing but annoyance, 
 while Unwin had a strange, passing desire to hold her 
 roughly . . . hurt her. It was gone in a moment, but 
 he experienced on the top of it a sort of shocked aston- 
 ishment at having known it. 
 
 "You must think of something; you must," she said, 
 staring angrily at him through the gloom. 
 
 He left her, and wandered round the church very gloom- 
 ily by himself, peering and poking everywhere without 
 result. But as he was passing under the tower, where it 
 was already dark, for the tenth time, he felt the bell rope 
 hit him on the face. He cursed the bell rope, though in 
 a sacred place, and saw stars: then he saw something else. 
 Illumination spread from those receding stars and he 
 seized the bell-rope. 
 
 Clang! Clang! Clang! immediately rang out through 
 the still church, and across the country fields in the twi- 
 light. 
 
 "Oh!" called Pauline, running towards Unwin; "why 
 on earth didn't you think of that before?" 
 
 "If it comes to that . . . why didn't you?" 
 
 Then they sat down once more and waited. Nothing
 
 90 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 happened. He rang again, and this time there soon came 
 a clattering of feet outside, the sound of people calling, 
 the turn of the key in the door. They emerged, blinking, 
 from the pitch darkness into the spring night outside. 
 And there stood Chubb, solid upon a moving background 
 of village people bearing sticks and lanterns. 
 
 "Cab's waiting," he said. 
 
 "Well!" gasped Pauline. The two released persons 
 gazed at each other. A long man surged forth from the 
 crowd armed with a hay rake. 
 
 "We thought something had happened . . . robbers 
 . . . fire ... we didn't know. Church-bell's never rung 
 at that time afore in my life." 
 
 "Nor in mine," piped an old woman from behind in a 
 print bonnet. 
 
 "It was your son's Agnes locked 'em in. They've 
 no business to let that soft lass have the key," said the 
 first speaker. 
 
 It was all oddly mediaeval, this scene round the old 
 church, with the moving lanterns and the shapeless gar- 
 ments too dimly seen to be very different from those 
 worn long ago, and the country faces and voices. An 
 old man with a big nose and bent rheumatic limbs like a 
 figure from Teniers or Ostade leered at Pauline out of 
 the shadows, holding his lantern high. 
 
 "A bonny lass, he! he! A bonny lass! Agnes were 
 none so soft. She mun lock me in wi' this yere lass any 
 day. He! he!" 
 
 "Chubb!" cried Pauline, clinging somehow desper- 
 ately in him to the solid present. "How did you come 
 here?" 
 
 "Miss Amelia told me to stop behind till you come. 
 But you didn't come. Then the chap in the parson's 
 stables and me, we heard the bell, and he says 'Some- 
 thing's up!' So I says if something's up you may be 
 bound Mr. Unwin's in it. So I comes along." 
 
 "But Mrs. Delamere?" said Unwin, opening the cab
 
 LADIES IN A CHAR-A-BANC 91 
 
 door. "I say, Miss "Westcott, hadn't you better get in?" 
 
 "Mrs. Delamere," replied Chubb, "was all for leaving 
 you. But Miss Amelia she ups and she says, either she 
 stops or I does. And Mrs. Delamere says in her haughty 
 way like : ' Drive on ! ' So then I puts in my word. ' I 
 brefer to stop,' I says; and nothing wouldn't make me 
 say no other. 'I brefer to stop,' I says." 
 
 "Well!" chuckled the old man again, "here's a lot of 
 fuss about a young chap having a bit of a lark ... if 
 it was me going to spend the night in our old church with 
 a bonny lass like her, I shouldn't trouble ..." 
 
 "Get in," commanded Unwin, propelling Pauline 
 through the cab door. 
 
 "But I can't think how Miss Amelia dared do it," 
 said she, as he followed her in after bestowing gratuities. 
 "Tackle Mrs. Delamere, I mean. It's like a mouse going 
 for a large, green-eyed cat ! ' ' 
 
 Chubb, turning the door-handle, was also able to an- 
 swer this question. 
 
 "I heard her say I was a sort of sign everything was 
 all proper," he remarked. "She gave out as I shouldn't 
 stand any larky goings on in my cab, nor shouldn't I." 
 
 "Chaperon, in fact," said I T -.'in. "But, surely, 
 Chubb, she was thinking of Grisel Venus and a stock- 
 broker might go to the moon under Jier wing in perfect 
 propriety. "We all know that." 
 
 Just then Griselda gave a careless flick of her tail as 
 one who says, "I am good, I don't know why." Chubb got 
 on the box-seat, the long man waved his rake, and the 
 senile spark held high his lantern, cackling out, "If I had 
 nobbut an old shoe and a bit o' rice, he! he!" 
 
 Unwin and Pauline beamed from the side windows, 
 laughing, excited, though they did not realise why they 
 felt that odd thrill of excited pleasure. 
 
 "Good-bye! Good-bye!" 
 
 And the people, moving about between the flowery 
 grasses, called back: "Good-bye! Good luck!"
 
 92 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 For they too felt as if they had just seen youth and 
 hope go by with a sort of wedding jollity. 
 
 Perhaps it was the association of ideas which made 
 Unwin take Pauline's hand in his and ask, laughing 
 
 "I say, hasn't it been a joke?" 
 
 "But poor Miss Amelia!" 
 
 "And the Vicar! Never mind, we'll go round to-mor- 
 row and make love to Miss Amelia. She has been an old 
 dear." 
 
 The "we" was perhaps a little intoxicating. He pressed 
 the supple fingers closer. 
 
 "Do you know, the first thing I noticed about you was 
 your hands . . . your pretty hands ..." 
 
 Pauline withdrew the one he was holding and moved 
 away. 
 
 "Of course you'll have to go round and explain to the 
 Vicar." 
 
 After which nothing of import was said until they 
 reached Aunt Dickson's door, where they parted lightly 
 under the chaperonage of Chubb. 
 
 Aunt Dickson looked up concerned as Pauline entered 
 the room. 
 
 "Oh, I am so thankful you are safely back. I have had 
 Miss Amelia and Mrs. Delamere in. What has happened ? ' ' 
 
 Pauline sat down and related her tale. It was less 
 vivid than usual and Aunt Dickson noticed the difference 
 with increasing dismay. Surely, she thought, the girl is 
 not falling in love with young Unwin. Aloud ? she said 
 impulsively 
 
 " I 'd rather it had been any one else ! ' ' 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because ..." Aunt Dickson hesitated. "Well, I 
 don't want you to have the job of reforming^ drunkard." 
 
 "I shall not have the chance," said Pauline. "And 
 he is not a drunkard. The bare term in connection with 
 Mr. Unwin is ridiculous. It is only that he ... some- 
 times . ."
 
 LADIES IN A CHAR-A-BANC 93 
 
 She looked across more wistfully than she knew, and 
 Aunt Dickson's "big face grew very grave and sad, with a 
 deep sadness and gravity such as was seldom seen in it. 
 
 "Pauline," she said, speaking with a visible effort, "I 
 married a man like that, thinking I was going to help 
 him. He threw me downstairs in one of his drunken fits 
 and that is why I am like this." 
 
 "Aunt Dickson! Oh! I never knew. I never knew," 
 said Pauline, almost in a whisper. 
 
 "Nobody knows. He was never a notorious drunkard. 
 But I love you like my own daughter so I have told 
 you." 
 
 Pauline slipped across the hearth and hid her face in 
 Aunt Dickson's lap, kissing the veined old hands. She 
 could not say anything. At last she lifted up her head. 
 
 "To think God lets such things happen to people like 
 you!" she said, brushing away fierce, hot tears. 
 
 But Aunt Dickson was always ready to give her Maker 
 credit for kindness and common sense. 
 
 "I don't believe the Lord had much to do with it," 
 she answered. "I think it was more likely port wine 
 after whooping cough at fifteen and an over-indulgent 
 mother. But we won't speak of it any more, Pauline." 
 She paused. "And so Mrs. Carter wore her plum col- 
 our? I always think she looks well in that." 
 
 Thus the door closed again upon that locked chamber 
 of Aunt Dickson's heart which she had painfully forced 
 open for a moment out of love for Pauline, and they 
 talked a little of ordinary simple matters. 
 
 But no sooner was Pauline safely in her bedroom alone 
 with her own urging, disturbing thoughts at last, when 
 Eva knocked at the door. 
 
 "The Missus has sent you a glass of hot milk. I'm 
 to see you take it." 
 
 Pauline sighed and opened the door, and Eva entered 
 briskly. 
 
 "Well! You do look done up," she remarked.
 
 94 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "I am very tired," said Pauline. "I shall go straight 
 to bed." 
 
 But Eva did not retire. 
 
 "Look here," she said; "you take it all too serious. 
 Nobody '11 think a penny the worse of you, Miss. I'm 
 sure I don't!" 
 
 "That's nice of you/' said Pauline, smiling. 
 
 "Not a bit of it, Miss," said Eva. "Us Martins al- 
 ways was oners for romanch. We don't believe in tittle- 
 tattling about sweethearts and spoiling a girl's game. I 
 shall ever remember the clout over the ear my poor 
 Mother gave our Bill for saying out before everybody 
 at tea, 'Who kissed Cock Robin?' meaning Uncle Robin 
 that afterwards married Aunt Susan, and now they have 
 two pairs of twins and an odd boy with a squint in his 
 left eye." She sighed. "Ay, we owe a lot to my poor 
 Mother." 
 
 What could Pauline say in the face of that? Nothing. 
 She sat down and drank the hot milk, responding suit- 
 ably to questions about the tea, the garden, the ladies' 
 dresses and the attitude of Chubb.
 
 DELIA S PARTY 
 
 AUNT DICKSON beamed from her window like a jolly 
 red sun on a wintry morning, for she had found a 
 new joy in life. To the tortoise bell which regulated the 
 life of the house she had now added a portable telephone 
 instrument which enabled her to keep a finger, as it were, 
 on the pulse of all Wendlebury Town. True, the Misses 
 Pritchard and other ladies were not "on," but it was, 
 splendid to hear once more the muffled voice of Binns. 
 the fishmonger and to order, without an intermediary, 
 the joint for Sunday's dinner. She stocked the larder 
 to overflowing that morning with an excited, rollicking 
 sense of being "in it" again which left her breathless and 
 satisfied. She experienced that satisfaction in having 
 shopped well which is a perverse survival of a time when 
 women depended- on their own exertions for the provision- 
 ing of the household. 
 
 So, deeply feeling she had baked and spun, though 
 knowing otherwise, Aunt Dickson sat back in her great 
 chair and watched the passers-by. Pauline leaned en- 
 grossed over her translating. The scented flowery silence 
 was accentuated by the light rush and crackle of a wood 
 fire which gave out cheerfulness without too much heat. 
 Then Cling! and Aunt Dickson 's ear was at the receiver. 
 
 "It is for you, Pauline. Mr. Unwin? Yes. So nice 
 having the telephone." 
 
 She gave up the receiver; and Pauline felt vividly con- 
 scious of the big, inert figure, sitting there in the sun- 
 light. 
 
 "Oh! Not at all tired, thank you. No: I'm afraid I 
 
 95
 
 9<5 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 can't . . . Very busy just now. What a lovely day! 
 Good-bye!" 
 
 She put back the receiver and turned to Aunt Dickson. 
 
 "He wanted me to cycle out with him to Ryeford 
 Magna. We'd been talking about the church there. I 
 said I couldn't find time." 
 
 "I'm glad, Pauline." 
 
 "Oh, but that's only me. I do so wish I could help 
 him." 
 
 Aunt Dickson shook her head and said nothing, while 
 Pauline went back to her book; for she also, looking at 
 that maimed woman, felt there was nothing to say. But 
 she found it very difficult to keep her mind on her work, 
 and her delicate, longish face with the pointed chin, 
 lovely mouth and dark eyes, had a brooding look, elu- 
 sive; the will-o'-the-wisp again emerging. The will-o'-the- 
 wisp that would light the pork-butcher's shop. 
 
 Unwin hung up the receiver and walked to the window 
 of his private office where he stared out for some time 
 at a cat on the next roof. So that was it, was it? He 
 might as well know before things went any further. 
 After all, there were moments when he disliked her; 
 in the church, for instance, when he was wandering about 
 in the dark and banging his eye with a bellrope. It was 
 foolish to fall in love with a girl who aggravated you so; 
 no foundation for a happy married life there. 
 
 Then his reflections abruptly took a fresh turn and a 
 beautiful light, like sudden sunshine, relieved their dull- 
 ness. Of course, the old woman was in the room. No 
 doubt Pauline had been shy and did not like to make an 
 appointment under the nose of Aunt Dickson. 
 
 Whistling, he sat down to his table and began to jot 
 down what ought to be done in the little church where 
 he and Pauline had been imprisoned. It would all help 
 when Lord Southwater went over the place with him, and 
 would add, no doubt, to the favourable opinion which
 
 DELIA'S PARTY 97 
 
 that excellent peer already entertained of his abilities. 
 After a while, he began to chuckle as he sketched. 
 Chubb . . . the crowd outside . . . What a lark that all 
 was, to be sure! And the ride home his pencil ceased 
 moving 1 the ride home. But he could not recover what 
 he had felt in holding her slim fingers, and his one thought 
 was to be near her again. 
 
 In consequence of this, he went that same evening to 
 call upon Delia Lambert. But Pauline would have been 
 astonished and even pained had she known that her tele- 
 phone message would produce this effect. For there is 
 one mystery locked away from the female sex ; no girl will 
 ever really understand that a man's love for a woman 
 whom he can't see, will send him to see another whom he 
 does not love. Thus while Pauline avoided promiscuous 
 male society and remained intolerant of the new curate, 
 Unwin entered a confectioner's shop, purchased a box of 
 chocolates and made his way with a certain eagerness to 
 the little house near the Bowling Green Inn, telling him- 
 self that it was a tribute to the memory of poor Delamere. 
 
 In answer to his knock, the dressmaker-landlady opened 
 the door, munching, with fingers pressed upon her mouth 
 to support her new false teeth. ' ' .'Souse ! Good evening, 
 Mr. Unwin." 
 
 "Is Miss Lambert at home?" said Unwin, realising the 
 curiosity in the woman's eyes with a faint feeling of em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 ' ' She is not open to professional engagements this even- 
 ing. I presume it is the fortune-telling?" 
 
 "N-no," said Unwin. Then he heard with relief Delia 
 Lambert's voice from the interior. "That you, Mr. Un- 
 win? Oh, come in! Do come in." 
 
 "Of course ... I was not aware . . . Any personal 
 friend," murmured the dressmaker, ushering Unwin into 
 the room. 
 
 Delia sat at the head of the table and the dressmaker
 
 98 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 had evidently just risen from a seat on her right hand. 
 A bunch of white lilac was surrounded by the pink and 
 green and silver of salmon and cucumber, by the pale gold 
 of delicately roasted chicken, by the heaped rose of early 
 strawberries, by a jar of foie gras. Unwin remembered 
 his last interview and felt naturally astonished, though 
 endeavouring to concentrate his mind upon the weather. 
 
 "Yes, delightful," said Delia staidly; then her lips 
 twitched and she began to laugh. "It's no good, Mr. 
 Unwin. You behave so perfectly, but even you are unable 
 to ignore such a banquet in a room twelve feet by ten. 
 Now, honestly, tell me what you think it all means ? And 
 sit down, Miss "Walker. Go ? Of course you can 't go. No 
 lady ever left a party in the middle ; and besides, I want 
 you. And Mr. Unwin is to have this chair on my left. 
 -Now then! What do you think of it?" 
 
 As she leaned forward he saw that her face was even 
 more lined than he had thought, yet in spite of high cheek 
 bones, blunt nose and restless eyes, it remained oddly at- 
 tractive. 
 
 "What do I think?" he said, smiling. "Why, that 
 you and Miss Walker are doing yourselves uncommonly 
 well." 
 
 "We're having a party," said Delia. "Miss Walker has 
 been so kind to me that I wanted to try and return a little, 
 though one can never return a kindness." 
 
 "No." Unwin too smiled at the little woman opposite. 
 "That's a good thing we have to keep." 
 
 "Not at all ... 'scuse . . . only mentioning the palm- 
 istry here and there," said Miss Walker. 
 
 "But Mr. Unwin still feels uneasy," mocked Delia. 
 "He is an upright, respectable citizen who has never 
 known the adventurous joy of buying what he can see no 
 means of paying for, and he fears we shall get into trouble, 
 Miss Walker." 
 
 "I'm sure I never owed a penny. Father's guiding 
 principle," murmured Miss Walker, rather annoyed.
 
 DELIA'S PARTY 9& 
 
 "I know what happened," said Unwin soothingly. 
 "Miss Lambert rubbed her crystal like a person in a 
 fairy tale and the banquet appeared. It does taste a bit 
 of brimstone, doesn't it, Miss Walker?" 
 
 "Perhaps, Miss Lambert," said the dressmaker, drawing 
 herself up, "it would be better to inform Mr. Unwin that 
 you have had a legacy left you, and that these are the 
 er proceeds. ' ' 
 
 "That's it," said Delia. "My grandfather has died 
 and cut me off with fifty pounds for mourning and an 
 insult. So I am going to have some real fun out of it, 
 just to spite him." 
 
 "After all, fifty pounds is a very nice sum," said the 
 dressmaker, a little wistfully. "It takes a lot of earning, 
 especially when you begin to get on in life like me." 
 
 "You getting on! You haven't a grey hair," said Delia, 
 with careless good-nature. "Ask the local preacher with 
 the bump over his right eye what he thinks?" 
 
 "Past all that," said the dressmaker, but she gave a 
 giggle reminiscent of her lost youth. 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Unwin gallantly. "A woman is as 
 old as she looks, you know." 
 
 "Well," said Miss Walker, "perhaps you are right. 
 "There's Mrs. Delamere now ... I was working for her 
 yesterday . . . how she wears! But she was a good deal 
 bothered about Lord Southwater." 
 
 "Why?" said Unwin rather eagerly. 
 
 "He is ill in bed with 'scuse! a bad attack of bron- 
 chitis." 
 
 "I'm sorry to hear that," said Unwin. But a sudden, 
 sense of lightness and relief made him realise that he was 
 glad to hear it, and that a little anxiety in regard to Lord 
 Southwater 's silence had gradually been creeping across 
 the clear horizon of the future. It was not definite enough 
 to be called a fear, but the possibility of fear had been 
 there. Now all was explained, and he could await the re- 
 covery of the invalid with an easy mind.
 
 100 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 So Unwin's spirits went up with a bound and the little 
 party became a very merry one, while the little dress- 
 maker began to feel that she was still a fascinating 
 woman, though undoubtedly mature, and that there was 
 something about her which might have turned the heads 
 of all Wendlebury, had she developed it earlier in life. 
 At cigarettes, however, she drew the line, retiring to over- 
 sew a bodice and to think of a Sunday-school treat long 
 ago, when a gentleman rather like Unwin had said to her : 
 "You resemble a fairy in that white frock." As a mat- 
 ter of fact the gentleman was no more like Unwin than 
 Miss Walker was like a fairy; it was just one of those 
 dreams given to women by a heavenly kindness which has 
 regard to their deep capacity for love, and will not let 
 them know themselves as they are. 
 
 When she had gone, Unwin and Delia sat down on 
 either side of the fire. 
 
 "Well," said Delia, putting her feet on the fender, "I 
 must own it is nice to feel once more that life is a lark to 
 somebody. ' ' 
 
 "I didn't feel it when I came in," said Unwin. "The 
 party has cheered me up too." 
 
 "Has it?" said Delia, watching the smoke go upwards 
 from her cigarette. "Sometimes I feel like the man who 
 committed suicide because life was all buttoning and un- 
 buttoning. It seems sometimes all getting down-hearted 
 and cheering up again. But I have been ill and miser- 
 able." 
 
 "You're better now?" 
 
 "Yes. Oh, yes. I shall keep quiet here for a few 
 weeks, and then I shall be all right. The air is so lovely ; 
 and I mean to spend part of the fifty pounds on Chubb 's 
 cab, as I can't walk far." 
 
 "That will do you good," said Unwin. Then he added: 
 "I say, isn't it queer that I should have chanced to be 
 with poor Delamere at the last, and now I appear likely
 
 DELIA'S PARTY 101 
 
 to get this appointment with Lord Southwater? How 
 his pride would be injured if he knew the whole story. ' ' 
 
 "Well, he never will know it. We are neither of us 
 likely to go back on a dead man who can't speak for him- 
 self," said Delia. "But I am glad you are getting the 
 job. After what you did for one brother, it is only just 
 that you should derive some benefit from the other." 
 
 "Oh, I did very little. But Southwater would never 
 give me the post if he knew. His pride would be con- 
 stantly galled by seeing me," said Unwin. 
 
 "Are you afraid I shall tell?" said Delia, looking 
 straight at him. "I promise you I won't, if that eases 
 your mind." 
 
 "I'm not afraid," said Unwin. 
 
 Then they talked in low voices of the dead man, and 
 about eleven o 'clock Unwin departed. It was a fine, starry 
 night, and he strolled past Pauline's house, though it was 
 not on his way home. As he went by, a light shone out 
 from the upper storey, and he felt that stirring of the 
 heart which all lovers know beneath their lady's window, 
 which is as commonplace as the chirping of a sparrow 
 to its mate, and as deeply a part of our common life. 
 
 Chubb stood in his kitchen waiting for Mrs. Chubb to 
 bring his best hat, while Griselda flicked her tail medi- 
 tatively before the open door. The sound of the cabman's 
 heavy voice came out to her, blustering, angry, finally a 
 sort of bellow. But she only flicked her tail : for, friendly 
 or furious, he was still her Chubb. 
 
 Mrs. Chubb, within, wore an expression which denoted 
 the same sentiments, but there remained elsewhere about 
 her mental attitude an impalpable something which could 
 not be defined, but which was not in Griselda 's. 
 
 "You great silly!" shouted Chubb. "You can't have 
 eaten my best hat! And this house isn't Buckinerm Pal- 
 ace. Find it." 
 
 "I have looked," said Mrs. Chubb, screwing up her
 
 102 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 mouth. "I can't find it. You don't want it as bad as all 
 that, until Sunday comes." 
 
 "I want it now and I'll have it," retorted Chubb. "But 
 things has got to a pretty pass in this house me having 
 to find my own things myself!" 
 
 He lumbered up the stairs, but Mrs. Chubb remained 
 at the bottom, opening and shutting her mouth like a 
 fish; her face was white but desperate. It did indeed 
 seem to her a terrible thing that she should be driven to 
 allow Chubb to fetch his own best hat. In a moment he 
 emerged from the bedroom bearing the hat. 
 
 ' ' It was under the bed all the time ! ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Chubb turned away with her hand to her heart. 
 
 "What time shall you be back?" 
 
 "Oh, Miss Lambert said about a couple of hours." 
 
 "It's every day this week." 
 
 "Yes. She's a lady now. She knows how to tip and 
 to treat a man," said Chubb. 
 
 "I dessay, " said Mrs. Chubb, then opened her mouth, 
 closed it again and thought better. "I suppose some quiet 
 country road. That was what she told you last time, 
 wasn't it?" 
 
 "Yes. I think I shall take her round Narcross and 
 home by Ryeford. Bluebells is coming out in Narcross 
 woods." 
 
 He got on his box as he spoke and Mrs. Chubb ex- 
 changed a glance with Griselda. They knew, they knew! 
 The hussy! 
 
 "I dessay you tell her all about the neighbourhood," 
 said Mrs. Chubb innocently. "She'll be asking you ques- 
 tions about things, Chubby. You're such a clever man!" 
 
 "Ay; I tell her the points of interest ... I tell her 
 the points of interest," said Chubb. "Gee-up!" 
 
 Griselda flicked her tail in mute sympathy as she de- 
 murely trotted on and Mrs. Chubb returned to the house, 
 where she stood for a long time quite still by the window, 
 listening to the sound of Griselda 's footsteps until they
 
 DELIA'S PARTY 103 
 
 died away. A silvery silence hung over the little town, 
 the grey clouds being illuminated by a distant sunlight, 
 high up, which did not shine through them. Then a cart 
 rattled by and Mrs. Chubb, seemingly roused to some des- 
 perate activity, put on her jacket and hat and fled through 
 by-ways to the Ryecroft Road. She was unaccustomed to 
 pedestrian exercise and began to pant by the time she 
 emerged upon the green fields, but that did not deter her 
 for more than the few moments required to gather strength 
 and speed on again. 
 
 At last she heard the familiar clop ! clop ! of Griselda 
 in the distance and instantly slipped behind a hedge. The 
 field chanced to be that in which the scarecrow waved 
 warning arms, and Mrs. Chubb was so excited that she 
 thought it was the farmer ordering her away, but she 
 called back desperately over her shoulder: "You may 
 shout and wave until you bust yourself, but I ivttl see 
 what's going on." 
 
 She crouched down as the cab came nearer her view 
 was interrupted by the twigs. She cautiously peered 
 above the hedge, saw Delia in the cab, and instantly dis- 
 appeared again. 
 
 ' ' Chubb ! ' ' called Delia excitedly from the road. ' ' Stop ! 
 Stop! A tramp has just fallen down behind that hedge!" 
 
 Mrs. Chubb heard in a whirlwind of fury and apprehen- 
 sion. A tramp ! But if Chubb found her there, what would 
 he do to her? He would never forgive her in this world. 
 
 Her thoughts ran round and round like rats in a trap, 
 as she crouched in the ditch among dead leaves that rat- 
 tled. Dead leaves . . . dead leaves . . . babes in the 
 wood. . . . An inspiration came to her. 
 
 Delia ran across the road to look over the hedge, and 
 Chubb followed more slowly. Mrs. Chubb, through a chink 
 in her heap of leaves, saw their heads close together as 
 they peered over, and she ground her teeth in impotent 
 indignation. How handsome her Chubb looked! What a 
 splendid figure of a man. No wonder . . .
 
 104 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "Well!" said Delia, drawing back. "This is queer. I 
 most certainly saw a hat. ' ' 
 
 "It's been fancy," said Chubb, turning away. 
 
 Mrs. Chubb, however, was trembling to such an extent 
 that the sparse leaves ceased to cover her, and Delia 
 exclaimed again 
 
 "I am certain it is a tramp. I see an old boot!" 
 
 "Old boots is common enough," grunted Chubb, going 
 back to his cab. 
 
 "But it waggled," protested Delia, hurrying along the 
 road under the shadow of the hedge. 
 
 "Fancy, "said Chubb. 
 
 "I'm sure I saw a boot," said Delia. "You could fancy 
 a face, perhaps, but not a boot." 
 
 "Women can fancy anything. Get in, Mum," said 
 Chubb. "Gee-up!" 
 
 And Mrs. Chubb, wet through from the mud in the 
 ditch, exhausted after her long walk, and almost fainting 
 with nervous agitation, yet had a moment of relief so in- 
 tense that it seemed almost like beatitude as she heard the 
 cab roll away down the Ryeford Road. 
 
 After a few moments she got up, brushed off as much 
 mud as possible, and plodded by devious ways home to a 
 situation which, though less terrible than it might have 
 been, was still unparalleled in the annals of the Chubbs. 
 Mr. Chubb was reduced, after waiting a whole half-hour, 
 to the horrible necessity of getting his own tea ready. 
 His back, as Mrs. Chubb passed the window, expressed 
 something of what he felt about that. Cautiously, gently 
 she opened the door. 
 
 "Chubby!" she bleated. 
 
 Then he turned. Then the pent-up storm burst. He 
 prided himself on never laying a finger on a woman, and 
 nobly he kept to that resolution now. When his expres- 
 sions of just anger became reproduceable he was shout- 
 ing like some overwhelming Neptune with a piece of smok- 
 ing toast on his trident.
 
 DELIA'S PARTY 105 
 
 "Out! Out a -walking! When I wanted my tea!" 
 
 ' ' I 'm very sorry, Chubb, ' ' said she, sinking into a chair. 
 
 "Then what was you doing? What excuse have you to 
 make?" 
 
 "I haven't none," said she dully, staring at her muddy 
 boots. "I I wanted a bit of fresh air." 
 
 "And this," said Chubb, addressing the universe, "is 
 what I get for being a faithful married husband twenty 
 year! No wonder marrying 's going out o' fashion." 
 
 Mrs. Chubb made no reply. She could, as she exhaust- 
 edly reflected, manage a day's washing against anybody, 
 but sleuth-hunting was too much for her. 
 
 Next morning, still feeling the effects of this novel ex- 
 perience, she went to clean at the house where Delia Lam- 
 bert lodged, and, being late, encountered the little dress- 
 maker just starting forth with fashion 'papers and bag 
 upon the day's work. Often and often Mrs. Chubb had 
 paused on the way, determining not to come, and then 
 urged forward by that curiosity of jealousy which drives 
 cleverer people than the cabman's wife into much more 
 distasteful actions than cleaning out the sitting-room of 
 the hated rival. 
 
 "Then," said the dressmaker, "you'll do the sitting- 
 room while Miss Lambert is out driving this afternoon?" 
 
 Mrs. Chubb opened her mouth, closed it, swallowed, 
 and answered, "Yes." 
 
 "It's a real good job for Chubb," pursued the dress- 
 maker, conscious of having introduced a valuable custo- 
 mer. "Miss Lambert is generous with her money when 
 she has any. I've no doubt she behaves well to him." 
 
 "Neither have I," said Mrs. Chubb, screwing her lips 
 tight and walking into the house.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A COUNTRY WALK 
 
 A YOUNG man in Wendlebury who desires to see a 
 young woman has but to place himself near the little 
 table in the confectioner's window and the chance will 
 come. So the shop being a busy one and the few tables 
 in request, which does not allow of their continued occu- 
 pation by non-consumers it is simply a question whether 
 love or digestion first gives out. Unwin's excellent inter- 
 nal organs had already begun slightly to feel the strain 
 of cheese-cakes, bath-buns and other solid dainties com- 
 pounded here from recipes dating back to eighteen fifty, 
 when he at last espied Pauline by the counter ordering 
 that almond pound cake for which the shop remained 
 justly famous. 
 
 It was already about six o'clock, but he jumped up 
 from his seat and hurried round a fragrant pile of spicy, 
 sugary buns, exclaiming with fervour 
 
 "Do come and take pity on my loneliness. I am just 
 going to begin and I do so hate having tea alone." 
 
 Pauline hesitated, looking at a crisp mound of Ladies' 
 Fingers, but seeing Aunt Dickson's face as it was that 
 evening after the ride home in Chubb 's cab from Marcross 
 Church. Poor Aunt Dickson . . . how little any one 
 guessed that her life held such a tragedy. . . . 
 
 "Do come," urged Unwin. 
 
 Then Pauline looked at him intently. 
 
 And as she looked, she made up her mind to marry him 
 if he asked her. Her emotions so long latent and con- 
 trolled suddenly burst forth into a great flower of hope 
 
 106
 
 A COUNTRY WALK 107 
 
 and desire. She felt the perfume of it surround them 
 both as she walked towards the table. Her love seemed 
 strong enough to carry both of them up into the heavens, 
 past all weakness and all sin. But it left her also ready 
 to suffer ... to suffer terribly ... to almost welcome 
 agony if it were helping him. 
 
 The little cake-scented shop swam in a sort of haze; it 
 was a wonderful moment in her life . . . unforget- 
 table . . . 
 
 Then the moment passed and she heard herself saying 
 in a high, trembling voice which she scarcely recognised 
 
 "Yes, I should like some tea." 
 
 But they both knew that tea-time had long gone past 
 and the shopwoman also knew it; so there was quite a 
 glow of young romance about the tray which she presently 
 set before them. She had added a little dish of melting, 
 delicious pink-and-white sugar biscuits called Lovers' 
 Kisses, such as were generally supplied only at dances and 
 weddings and such-like festivals, because she was all un- 
 consciously a poet though she was fat and tight-busted 
 and rosy-cheeked and had a beautiful desire to pay trib- 
 ute to young love. 
 
 Both Unwin and Pauline felt the charm of the narrow 
 little place where the rich plenty of butter and cream and 
 eggs from the green fields round Wendlebury had been 
 transformed into things delicious to eat during the past 
 seventy years by women who had pride and joy in their 
 work. It was the poetry of restaurant keeping which 
 these lovers sensed in nibbling Lovers' Kisses and talking 
 about the weather. 
 
 But after a while the kind shopwoman retired to a cor- 
 ner and feigned to be sorting gingerbreads into a tall glass 
 jar. So Unwin bent forward across the table and said 
 quickly 
 
 "You wouldn't come with me to Ryeford. Why not?" 
 
 "Aunt Dickson " murmured Pauline. "I don't 
 
 like to leave her too much alone."
 
 108 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "It is a lovely church," he said. "I believe I may haT 
 something to do there when Marcross is finished. ' ' 
 
 "But would you not rather build a church outright?" 
 said Pauline, speaking at random. "In the future no- 
 body will ever know you did anything if you only repair 
 and restore and beautify. You get lost!" 
 
 "That's just " he began. But he could not yet 
 
 explain to her how he felt about that; he did not even, 
 as it were, mention the matter to himself. But the whole 
 of his own work was inspired by the thought of those 
 brothers of his in the past who had added and beautified 
 and been forgotten, and yet must be gloriously remem- 
 bered so long as tower and steeple stand among cluster- 
 ing English villages. 
 
 A silence fell between them; one of those odd silences 
 which happen when certain words crowd round waiting 
 to be spoken and no others will come. A time of miser- 
 able, happy, odd embarrassment in which lovers usually 
 nimble-minded become awkward. 
 
 Then the shop-door opened and Miss Amelia hurried in, 
 saying breathlessly 
 
 "Miss "Westcott here? I saw her in the window a mo- 
 ment ago . . . expecting me . . . grieved to be so late." 
 And she perched on a chair by the little table. "And so, 
 Pauline, you have started without me? Quite right." 
 
 Pauline and Unwin looked at Miss Amelia with natural 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Do have a cake," said Pauline nervously. 
 
 "Thank you," said Miss Amelia, drawing Unwin 's cup 
 towards her and taking a bun. "Ah! quite a feast. 
 Lovers' Kisses. Delicious, of course ..." She broke 
 off and flushed all over her delicate face. "Not that I 
 mean ..." She stopped again. "Let us all be eating." 
 
 Pauline pitied the little lady's obvious disturbance, 
 though unable to imagine the cause, while Unwin nibbled 
 another bun, flying in the face of organs which absolutely 
 declined further sustenance, and remarked jauntily
 
 A COUNTRY WALK 109 
 
 "I persuaded Miss "Westcott to join me. I hate having 
 tea alone." 
 
 "The more the merrier," seconded Pauline, making an 
 effort to appear unconcerned. "So glad you came, Miss 
 Amelia." 
 
 "No no. I can't suppose ..." She gazed distract- 
 edly around the shop. "Oh, here they are!" 
 
 And as she spoke, the Vicar, the Vicar's wife, Mrs. 
 Delamere and Miss Harriet entered. 
 
 "You are expecting them too?" said Unwin, rising. 
 
 "Sit down. Sit down. Let us all be eating," urged 
 Miss Amelia. Then she raised her voice and said in a 
 high, fluty tone, across the shop. "H-hem! I am having 
 a little party, Harriet, as you see." 
 
 "You ... a party! And never told me!" said Miss 
 Harriet, staring. 
 
 "Impromptu," fluttered Miss Amelia. "I always think 
 impromptu things. . . . Do come and join us, Mrs. Dela- 
 mere. ' ' 
 
 The Vicar, the Vicar's wife, Miss Harriet and Mrs. Dela- 
 mere, all four stood and gaped across buns and cheese- 
 cakes at Miss Amelia's flushed face, and at the excited 
 lilt of her tongue. 
 
 "Thank you," said Mrs. Delamere at last, "but I am 
 not in the habit of taking my tea at six-thirty." 
 
 ' ' Oh, nice change . . . too much of a groove in Wendle- 
 bury," responded Miss Amelia. 
 
 "We are here," announced the Vicar, taking the affair 
 in hand, "to make arrangements for the Parish Treat." 
 
 "Amelia knew that. I parted from her in this street 
 only five minutes since," said Miss Harriet, puzzled and 
 annoyed. 
 
 Then the proprietress of the shop came forth, ushering 
 the distinguished party into that little room behind the 
 shop where so many wedding and christening feasts had 
 been arranged during the past fifty years that there min-
 
 110 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 gled with the smell of bride-cake a fragrance of youth and 
 innocent pleasure. 
 
 The three left behind looked at each other. 
 
 "Perhaps Mr. Unwin would kindly obtain the bill," 
 said Miss Amelia, rather faintly. 
 
 "If you are sure you won't have any more?" said 
 Unwin, wondering what on earth it all meant. 
 
 ' ' No, thank you, ' ' said Pauline. And as he moved away 
 she leaned close to Miss Amelia, pressing her hand. "You 
 are a dear. But it's not a crime to have tea with a young 
 man in a shop, even in Wendlebury; is it?" 
 
 ' ' Not a crime, but an indiscretion ; which is worse, some- 
 times, in affairs of the ..." Miss Amelia broke off and 
 continued after a pause, earnestly and simply, forgetting 
 herself and her nervousness : ' ' My dear, talk made me an 
 old maid. It puts off more love-affairs than any cause in 
 the world. In my youth a young gentleman cared for 
 me up to a certain point and then it all died out and I 
 very much wondered why. I spent, really, a good many 
 years wondering. But in the end, I knew just from see- 
 ing the same thing happen to other young people. When 
 all is there, ready, but not fixed, if you know what I 
 mean? gossip is like pulling up a plant to see how it 
 grows. The plant often dies." She sighed, and the tears 
 came into her eyes though she was smiling. ' ' That is why 
 I joined you. I didn't want ... I should be so sorry " 
 
 "Dear Miss Amelia," said Pauline softly. She could 
 not find anything else to say, in spite of the tender, kind 
 thoughts which filled her heart for the little lady: but 
 she felt all the same that there could be no comparison 
 between the love of a mid- Victorian gentleman in side- 
 whiskers and that of Unwin. She knew deeply that no 
 lover in the world was like hers, nor ever could be. It 
 seemed ridiculous to think of anything so strong and 
 splendid being killed by the idle tongues of Wendlebury. 
 
 And as they all three presently went out of the shop 
 together, she wore such a radiant air that the kind shop-
 
 A COUNTRY WALK 111 
 
 woman felt a stirring of the pulses and a desire to throw 
 crystallised rose-leaves, while Unwin was so plainly in love 
 with all the world because of her, that Miss Amelia walked 
 home between them as if on a rosy cloud, upborne by their 
 happiness. 
 
 On the way from Miss Amelia's, Pauline and Unwin 
 talked of her, and said how dear she was, and they both 
 secretly saw her coming and going in their house, in the 
 lovely future when they had one another. 
 
 "You 11 come to Ryeford Church with me to-morrow?" 
 said Unwin, holding Pauline's hand close when they 
 reached Aunt Dickson's door. 
 
 "Yes," said Pauline. 
 
 Then she ran up the path, longing to be alone with her 
 wonderful thoughts, and opened the front door softly. 
 But as she went past the living-room door its blank panels 
 seemed to condemn her. Poor Aunt Dickson, shut out for 
 ever from all this glory and tingling adventure of love. 
 . . . She paused a moment, fighting with her desire for 
 solitude, and then went in. 
 
 "Bless me !" said Aunt Dickson. "you have got a colour. 
 Nobody would know you for the pale little girl that came 
 to Wendlebury. Where have you been?" 
 
 "I have had tea with Miss Amelia and Mr. Unwin." 
 
 "Unwin again!" 
 
 "Yes. Aunt Diekson I don't believe he does drink. 
 He may have done once, by some accident, but I shall 
 never, never believe he is a drunkard." 
 
 "No? Well, you are not a child, Pauline. You are 
 not even my own daughter, though I care for you as one. 
 I can do no more." 
 
 She spoke heavily, but after a while Pauline's gaiety 
 infected her, and she began to look out bravely as usual 
 across a jolly world which remained jolly in spite of 
 everything. 
 
 Then a man selling the first crabs of the season went 
 by, and she called to him through the open window. He
 
 112 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 seemed to her, in his blue jacket, like another pleasant 
 harbinger of summer. And he went off primed with 
 messages for the Missus and thanking Aunt Dickson 
 kindly. 
 
 "You might be a millionaire, the way you throw money 
 about!" smiled Pauline, her own joy deepened, now she 
 had conquered that desire to be alone, by the sunshine of 
 goodness and friendliness in this little room. 
 
 "I feel like one," said Aunt Dickson gaily. 
 
 And indeed she made of it a jolly and open-hearted 
 thing, this living on half her income and spending the 
 rest on extras. But Mrs. Delamere with the same means 
 was a poor woman, grudging and considering every penny 
 not spent on her own actual needs. 
 
 Later in the evening, the carrier came from the country 
 with butter and cream cheeses, and Eva could be heard 
 outside, scolding him as usual for being late while listen- 
 ing with pleasure to the scraps of gossip which he had to 
 tell. Then Aunt Dickson sent out word that he was to 
 be given a cup of cocoa, and so the night came, pleasantly, 
 as it did almost always to this little house, through which 
 flowed a constant stream of simple kindness which kept 
 the air so sweet. 
 
 About ten Aunt Dickson went to bed, and Pauline re- 
 mained to put the sitting-room in order. Eva, carrying 
 away the supper tray, paused conversationally. 
 
 "Mrs. Delamere 's maids is leaving again. They say she 
 can't get no others to come. I don't wonder." 
 
 Pauline laughed. 
 
 "They are always saying something in Wendlebury. 
 It is a regular gossip-shop." 
 
 Eva rested her tray on the table again. 
 
 "You say right there. But it's nothing to the place 
 I come from." She paused, and added in a low tone: 
 "Carrier's just been telling me. A poor girl I know got 
 into trouble and she's hung herself in the cowstable. They 
 called it tempery insanity, but it was talk drove her to it.
 
 A COUNTRY WALK 113 
 
 When she see two women together, and she passed, she 
 knew they was talking about her. If she'd been a real 
 bad 'un she wouldn't ha' cared; as my poor mother used 
 to say, it isn't the real bad 'uns that talk kills it' the bad 
 'uns that would like to be good." She paused, taking up 
 her tray. "But I can't help liking a bit o' news, myself. 
 Us Martins always. was ones for a bit o' news." 
 
 "Well," said Pauline, "I suppose if you like people, 
 you like talking about people. And then you're a gossip 
 before you know where you are." 
 
 "Anyway," replied Eva, "7 hate to hear them folks 
 talk that's always turning over what they say for fear 
 it should get them into trouble somewheres or somehow. 
 If a man goes down a road at night with a neighbour's 
 best hen Tinder his coat and you may only pass remark 
 that mebbe he's borrowed it until morning. . . . Well, 
 give me gossip, say I! What's newspapers, mostly all 
 the interesting parts about murders and divorces and 
 that? Why, gossip, of course. And then they say Lon- 
 don folks doesn't like gossip same as we do. We're all of 
 a piece in the world that's what we are." 
 
 "But the poor girl ..." said Pauline. 
 
 "Ay! it falls hard on some," concluded Eva, going 1 
 out. "It does certainly fall hard on some!" 
 
 Then Pauline turned out the lights and went up to her 
 own room, where she could be alone at last with that 
 most wonderful discovery in the world, which is found 
 anew every time as if it were hidden since the creation. 
 
 Both Unwin and Pauline that night felt upliftedly 
 aware that no one had ever been down the exact path 
 they travelled, during those happy, wakeful hours chimed 
 out by the Wendlebury bells above the little town. And 
 perhaps they were right : love is so vast. 
 
 The following afternoon Pauline went out to take her 
 walk as usual while Aunt Dickson rested. Unwin was 
 waiting for her beyond the long row of straight-fronted
 
 114 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 houses, and they made their way by a devious, back route 
 to the country, not because they really feared to be seen, 
 but because secrecy is an instinct with young lovers. As 
 they passed the Bowling Green Inn, they saw the jackdaw 
 hopping about and said to each other ' ' Mary Jane ! ' ' and 
 laughed at the jolliness of a world in which true lovers 
 could be first brought together by a wicked old bird in 
 a chimney. 
 
 "I'd like to have the old fellow for my own," said 
 Unwin. 
 
 "So should I," responded Pauline, and they both 
 thought at once of a little green lawn behind a house 
 where they would live together as man and wife. The 
 air seemed full of wedding bells and sunshine, though 
 it rained a little, and the only sound to be heard was the 
 clash of pewter pots, in the hand of the maid of the inn, 
 who stared at them from an open doorway. 
 
 They did not put up umbrellas, being clad in raincoats 
 and caps, and the taste of the soft, gently-falling rain 
 was fresh and pleasant on their lips. They felt a strong, 
 springing sense of growth, like that of the fields and 
 hedgerows of early summer which they passed when they 
 turned into the Ryeford Road. The scarecrow waved a 
 disreputable sleeve, seeming to crack low jokes with the 
 crows about sweethearts, but all the same wishing these 
 two good luck. 
 
 "Lovely day!" said Unwin, and they went on gaily, 
 though by now the rain was slanting in great sheets across 
 the red roofs and the grey spire. 
 
 Before reaching the Dragon at Ryeford, they encoun- 
 tered Chubb 's cab in which Delia Lambert was seated, 
 and some latent antagonism edged Pauline's voice as she 
 said "Good afternoon." But Chubb pulled up without 
 being told, considering that any acquaintance of his gen- 
 erous fare must wish to speak to her, for she was a lady, 
 she was, and no doubt about it. Therefore he said, with 
 comparative affability
 
 A COUNTRY WALK 115 
 
 "It's wot I call wet." 
 
 "Better for driving, Miss Lambert?" said Unwin, ap- 
 proaching and holding out a friendly hand. 
 
 "Yes, thank you. I'm turning into a tree or vegetable. 
 It's queer, but I like a new experience. My arms are 
 still human arms but my head is part of a nice, comfort- 
 able cabbage ; you '11 soon see me sprouting. ' ' 
 
 "I've always rather envied them, standing by streams 
 with their feet in forget-me-nots," said Pauline lightly. 
 
 "That's how you want to feel for a time, Miss Lam- 
 bert," said Unwin. "Do you a power of good." 
 
 Delia glanced at him half wistfully, half curiously, and 
 then at Pauline. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "You know." 
 
 She smiled her odd, twisted smile, which was yet charm- 
 ing because it was so unartificial. 
 
 "But our roots still ache every now and then. Don't 
 you think so, Miss Westcott?" 
 
 ' ' I couldn 't imagine you taking root. ' ' 
 
 ' ' No ; you 're right, ' ' said Delia in rather a sombre tone ; 
 but immediately she added with a smile: "Well, I must 
 be getting on. It is a delightful day for walking, in 
 spite of the rain, isn't it?" 
 
 "If you stopped at home for rain in Wendlebury ..." 
 
 Thus was it politely agreed between the ladies that there 
 could be nothing unusual in a girl and a young man taking 
 a long country walk together in a downpour. Then Chubb 
 jerked his rein, and Griselda went on with a blink and 
 a gentle whisk of the tail, looking most oddly like a ro- 
 mantic maiden aunt. 
 
 Pauline and Unwin pursued their road with a feeling 
 that something significant had happened, and yet noth- 
 ing had happened. Only they were in some way thrown 
 out of tune. They no longer felt themselves buoyantly 
 part of a gay world in which even the scarecrow waved 
 them good luck. They were two real people, in a real life,
 
 116 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 where discords unite to make harmony at a long dis- 
 tance." 
 
 "You know her well, then?" said Pauline. 
 
 "Pretty well. Don't you like her?" 
 
 "Yes. At least I have no reason for not liking her 
 . . . only . . ." 
 
 "I'm sorry for her," said Unwin, and Pauline felt re- 
 buffed and angry, not realising the plain fact that she 
 was jealous. If lovers realised plain facts about them- 
 selves how strange life would be ... so utterly different. 
 Yet we love dear life best as it is, just as we love a dear 
 person with a crooked eyebrow or a long upper lip, and 
 would not have them otherwise. 
 
 "She is odd," pursued Unwin, utterly unable to con- 
 ceive that the lady of his dreams should be jealous of a 
 battered woman over thirty. "You can't judge her, really, 
 by ordinary standards." 
 
 "Interesting, I suppose?" said Pauline, controlling 
 voice and face to a level politeness. 
 
 "Very," said Unwin. Then, as they were now ap- 
 proaching the Dragon Inn, he said impulsively, "Some 
 people do seem to have hard luck and you don't know 
 why. Temperament, I suppose; but they don't make 
 their own temperament to begin with. It does seem 
 hard ..." He broke off, glancing at the Dragon Inn 
 which they were then passing. 
 
 Pauline noted the urgency of his tone, and put it all 
 down to his sympathy with Delia. She felt offended in 
 her most secret girl's pride that Unwin should bring her 
 out here with a practical understanding that he would 
 ask her to marry him, and then should talk with such 
 keen interest about another woman. But she held up her 
 head and said clearly 
 
 "I've always believed in luck. You can't explain that 
 away." 
 
 "Organised luck is the greatest power in the world so 
 far as material things go," assented Unwin, but he spoke
 
 A COUNTRY WALK 117 
 
 mechanically, as she did, and, behind the words, events 
 of the spirit were taking place without either of the 
 speakers being aware of it in the other. This happens so 
 constantly that there would be no need to notice the fact 
 but for the result produced in these two lives. 
 
 "The rain is ceasing," said Pauline, and as she said 
 that her spirit slipped away from Un win's to an infinite 
 distance; all the flush and glow faded: she became once 
 more the will-o'-the-wisp, elusive and remote. 
 
 But he felt a greater longing to get near her than he had 
 ever known before. The desire for a woman to whom he 
 could tell everything the wife in his home became as 
 great as his young desire for her love. He turned to her 
 suddenly, taking her arm. 
 
 "Pauline, one morning when I stood there," he said, 
 "I'd just seen a man die: one of the sort that seems 
 bound to make a mess of things. And he went so hard. 
 He seemed to have no hope. I can't tell you how I felt 
 at that minute. ..." 
 
 ' ' I was there. I saw you, ' ' said Pauline. 
 
 Her words were like stones falling into a well. She 
 could not say any more, and he stood staring at her. 
 
 "You saw me! What did you think?" 
 
 She opened her lips to tell him she had thought he was 
 drunk, but she could not do it. 
 
 "I thought you looked . . . dreadful. ..." 
 
 Then, behind her sick self-reproach, she felt a little light 
 growing. It was just as if some one had let the sun into 
 a dark room, opening one window after another until the- 
 whole place was filled with light and you could smell the 
 flowers and hear the birds singing. She had been ready 
 to marry him and had believed in him in a sense, through 
 faith; but this was certainty. 
 
 "Poor man!" she sighed, and from her heart she said 
 a prayer for Delamere. 
 
 Then they entered Ryeford Church, and Unwin began 
 to tell her the history of the square tower beneath which
 
 118 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Ryeford people had worshipped for nearly a thousand 
 years. And this did not make Pauline's own life seem 
 a little fleeting thing of no matter, as might have been 
 supposed, but only glorified it, giving a young love a sense 
 of all love being eternal. 
 
 The joy of the artist architecture being the greatest 
 of all the arts and the mother of them all mingled in 
 Un win's case with his joy in the woman he had chosen, 
 so that Ryeford Church, on that gleaming afternoon when 
 sun shone after rain, was filled with an unforgettable 
 glory such as some men never see all their lives. 
 
 Pauline, too, felt lifted up as if on wings by an intense 
 relief which showed now how great her apprehension must 
 have been, though she made herself overcome it. But 
 something within her wondered a little why Unwin delayed 
 his proposal, and this soon left her remote. She so easily 
 withdrew, and there was no flush of girlish passion in her 
 as she followed him through the silent aisles. If there 
 had been, he would have broken his resolution to refrain 
 from asking her to be his wife until he had definitely re- 
 ceived Lord Southwater's appointment. 
 
 For it was Unwin 's misfortune that he always desired 
 to have the whole thing perfect he wanted love and time 
 and circumstance all together and that exquisite satis- 
 faction in the future enabled him to keep silence now. He 
 was, with no outward sign of it, a seeker after loveliness, 
 which was why he delighted in the prospect of being made 
 guardian over these beautiful graveyards planted in kind- 
 ness by people who loved. It was real hard work, enough 
 to fill a man's life with manly toil, and yet a pursuit of 
 loveliness. 
 
 Still, when he and Pauline parted outside her door, he 
 began to feel a sudden misgiving. She looked so sweet 
 with her little, pale, pointed face and deep eyes and her 
 expressive, gloveless hand held out to him, and yet he was 
 no longer certain of her. He held her hand, and yet she 
 seemed once more a long way off. He wished ardently
 
 A COUNTRY WALK 119 
 
 that he had asked her when she seemed so near to him 
 on the way to Ryeford. He would ask her now, with Aunt 
 Dickson beaming amiably through the open window. 
 
 But Pauline's eyes mirrored back his glance blankly, 
 mysteriously, like a pool in a deep wood. 
 
 "Good-bye, Mr. Unwin." 
 
 "I shall see you to-morrow?" 
 
 Then Aunt Dickson called from the window 
 
 "Lovely evening after the rain, Mr. Unwin." 
 
 So he stood among the geraniums and lobelias beneath 
 the window talking to Aunt Dickson, and the desperate 
 thought came to him that he would demand an interview 
 with Pauline in the back sitting-room; he could not go 
 away without knowing if she loved him or not. But Aunt 
 Dickson complained that the evening air grew chilly, so 
 the window was closed : and as he looked at Pauline 's face 
 through the glass he felt suddenly shut away from her 
 for ever. She seemed to recede always as he advanced. 
 
 But before he reached the end of the street he was glad 
 he had not asked for the interview in the back room among 
 stuffed pike caught by Aunt Dickson 's late husband. He 
 had not done violence to her feelings for that end. And 
 secretly, unconsciously, he was glad to have all the wonder 
 and glory still in front of him ; for if Pauline glimmered 
 elusive in his misty thoughts, he also was of those who 
 love to follow.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 PAULINE SEES A PAGEANT 
 
 AUNT DICKSON sat in her usual place by the window. 
 Opposite to her was the little dressmaker with whom 
 Delia Lambert lodged. 
 
 "Looks as good as new," said the dressmaker, stitching 
 a clean lace front into a bodice. 
 
 "You save more by mending than by making," said 
 Aunt Dickson. But the remarks on both sides were me- 
 chanical the bow of the acrobat on entering the stage 
 the real business about to begin. 
 
 "So that fortune-telling person is still with you?" said 
 Aunt Dickson, figuratively chalking her feet. 
 
 "Yes; she does for herself and is a quiet lodger," apolo- 
 gised Miss Walker, "and nobody believes her fortune-tell- 
 ing, so it doesn't really matter. Live and let live, say I!" 
 
 This was a principle so after Aunt Dickson 's own heart 
 that she could only respond, swinging up, as it were, upon 
 the trapeze. ' ' I hear she has a lot of visitors ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Walker, anxious to oblige, for the 
 occasions when she worked for Aunt Dickson were red- 
 letter days in her calendar, and she always looked on the 
 little house as a land flowing with hot drinks and buttered 
 tea-cakes. "I am out, of. course, as a rule, but people 
 sometimes come in the evening after I get home." She 
 paused and leaned forward. "Miss Amelia for one." 
 
 "Miss Amelia! You would think she would be the 
 last," said Aunt Dickson, enjoying herself very much. 
 
 "And Mr. Unwin," continued Miss Walker. "He has 
 been several times." 
 
 120
 
 PAULINE SEES A PAGEANT 121 
 
 "Unwin!" exclaimed Aunt Dickson again, then aS 
 Pauline came into the room she added excitedly 
 
 "What do you think? It appears that Unwin often 
 goes to that lodger of Miss "Walker's to get his fortune 
 told." 
 
 "Not not exactly that," interposed the little dress- 
 maker, mindful of that supper-party when she had felt 
 so gay and happy, and not wishing to prejudice Unwin in 
 Pauline's eyes. "I think he just comes out of kind-heart- 
 edness, because Miss Lamhert is lonely. You can't help 
 liking her, though she does smoke and leave her things 
 all over the place. And him putting her out when she 
 was a-fire seems to make a sort of bond " Miss "Walker 
 gazed anxiously at the two ladies. "It would, you know." 
 
 "But how did he find her on fire?" demanded Aunt 
 Dickson, asking the question which leapt up at once in 
 Pauline's mind. 
 
 "He happened to be passing Mrs. Chubb sent him in 
 only common 'umanity," faltered the little dressmaker, 
 shocked at the impression she had made. "You can't let 
 cigarette smoking and a difference of gender stand in the 
 way of saving life, can you?" She turned urgently to 
 Pauline who still stood by the door. "Can you, Miss 
 Pauline?" 
 
 Pauline smiled and came forward into the room, hold- 
 ing out the black cotton which she had been sent to pur- 
 chase. 
 
 "No, indeed. Besides, I daresay Miss Lambert is a 
 very amusing companion. I spoke to her yesterday when 
 I was on the Ryeford Road." 
 
 "Oh, you never told me!" said Aunt Dickson. 
 
 "Did I not?" said Pauline lightly; but she knew quite 
 well that for some obscure reason she had refrained from 
 mentioning the encounter. 
 
 ""Were you with Unwin?" pursued Aunt Dickson. 
 
 "Yes. She was in Chubb 's cab," said Pauline. "Now, 
 Miss "Walker, I think this cotton will be all right?"
 
 122 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 But Aunt Dickson was not to be so easily turned aside. 
 
 "I thought Miss Lambert was poor very poor. How 
 can she afford Chubb?" 
 
 "She came somehow into a bit of money," said Miss 
 Walker. "It is a very good thing for Chubb." She 
 paused, then, eager to aid Delia's cause, she added im- 
 pulsively: "Chubb thinks the world of her. Says she's 
 the nicest lady he ever served." 
 
 "Mrs. Chubb thinks differently, according to Eva's 
 account," said Aunt Dickson. 
 
 "Well," said Miss Walker, "I shall ever remember the 
 time when my teeth was all wrong and dropping down, 
 and me no treat for anybody, and the way she had me 
 to supper with Mr. Unwin and salmon and every deli- 
 cacy." 
 
 "A supper party!" said Aunt Dickson. "Well, I 
 never. ' ' 
 
 Fortunately for Miss Walker there came a ring at the 
 front door, so she peered through the window, exclaimed: 
 "It's Miss Amelia as I'm alive!" and escaped thankfully 
 into the back room. 
 
 It was now early afternoon, with a pleasant spring 
 light on the flowers and on the tea-tray already laid, 
 which only wanted the square silver teapot. Miss Amelia 
 sat down in the midst of all this cheerful plenty and be- 
 gan to chatter nervously. 
 
 "Such a delicious day. Must take advantage of it. 
 My sister Harriet has been to lunch at the Vicarage. She 
 is quite a lay-curate as I always say. The least they can 
 do an occasional cutlet the wear and tear in shoe-leather 
 alone." Then she broke off and repeated aimlessly, "De- 
 licious day!" 
 
 "Did Miss Harriet enjoy herself?" said Pauline, merely 
 for the sake of making a remark, it being obvious that Miss 
 Amelia had something more serious than the lunch at the 
 Vicarage on her mind. 
 
 "No. Yes," the little lady rose abruptly, almost up-
 
 PAULINE SEES A PAGEANT 123 
 
 setting the tray of cakes. "I the fact is dear Mrs. Dick- 
 son, I am feeling the the need of air." 
 
 "But the window is wide open," said Aunt Dickson, 
 staring at Miss Amelia in some perturbation. "Do you 
 feel ill?" 
 
 "Not at all. You mistake me. I mean country air, 
 on the Ryeford Road," said Miss Amelia. "And I won- 
 dered if Pauline would accompany me. ' ' 
 
 "But it is just tea-time," said Aunt Dickson. "Surely 
 you don't want to miss your tea?" 
 
 Miss Amelia turned pink and white, and looked miser- 
 ably at Pauline. 
 
 "I have always understood that air was feeding," she 
 murmured. "If dear Pauline would come now I should 
 be so greatly obliged." 
 
 "Of course I will," said Pauline at once. "I have my 
 hat and coat on already." 
 
 ' ' So sweet of you. Good-bye, dear Mrs. Dickson. Please 
 don't think it unkind ... a sudden craving for air ..." 
 and she murmured herself agitatedly out of the house. 
 
 Once in the street, she became a little calmer. 
 
 "Let us talk of indifferent topics," she said, straighten- 
 ing her veil with trembling fingers. "If we could ex- 
 change views about the parliamentary situation until we 
 reached the corner of the Ryeford Road I think it might 
 do me good. That and the fresh air. I always think any- 
 thing about Parliament so soothing . . . talk and talk and 
 the same thing repeated over and over again and nothing 
 really happening. It has the same effect on my mind now 
 as the 'House that Jack built' had when I was little." 
 
 So they went along, Miss Amelia talking and Pauline 
 listening, until they reached the green country. 
 
 "And now," said Miss Amelia, putting up her veil, 
 "you will doubtless wonder why I brought you here?" 
 
 "Has Miss Harriet quarrelled with the Vicar again?" 
 said Pauline. 
 
 Miss Amelia shook her head.
 
 124 . THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "If it were only that!" She paused. "I thought I 
 must tell you alone. I thought you would prefer it. It 
 would be such an unpleasant shock if people were there, 
 for you could scarcely help changing countenance. And 
 as you are not really engaged " 
 
 ' ' Miss Amelia, ' ' pleaded Pauline, ' ' do tell me what you 
 mean?" 
 
 And something in the girl's tone made Miss Amelia 
 forget her own nervousness, so that she said with quiet 
 directness 
 
 "The Vicar had a letter from Lord Southwater this 
 morning. Mr. Unwin has not got the post. ' ' 
 
 "Not got the post!" said Pauline. 
 
 "No. The Vicar went in to see Unwin. He is so 
 very sorry about it." 
 
 "But why has Lord Southwater changed his mind? It 
 was practically settled," said Pauline. 
 
 "Nobody knows. Lord Southwater just said he had 
 made other arrangements." 
 
 Pauline drew a long breath. 
 
 "Well, I must go back. Aunt Dickson is expecting 
 several people to tea and she will need me." 
 
 Miss Amelia peered up anxiously into Pauline's pale 
 face which told her nothing. 
 
 "You don't think me officious?" 
 
 "No, no," cried Pauline, putting her hand through 
 Miss Amelia's arm. "You are the kindest and best. Only 
 I don't want to say anything. ... I don't feel as if I 
 could. But I shall never, never forget your coming to 
 tell me." 
 
 "And money does not really matter at all in life," added 
 dear Miss Amelia. "So long as people are young and 
 care for each other ..." 
 
 A thrush sang out dear thrush Amen! A-A-men! 
 It was just a psalm in praise of love that the little old maid 
 and the bird gave forth together.
 
 PAULINE SEES A PAGEANT 125 
 
 Pauline returned to the little house when she found 
 it difficult to hand cups and saucers and seem prettily 
 interested 'in the misdemeanours of maidservants. At 
 last, however, the guests went away, and the question 
 which had been hot upon her tongue during that endless 
 tea-party was spoken. 
 
 "Did you tell Mrs. Delamere about Mr. Unwin?" 
 
 "What about him?" 
 
 "His being in the Dragon doorway that morning." 
 She paused, "Drunk as I thought." 
 
 "I don't remember doing so," said Aunt Dickson. "No, 
 T feel sure I never did." 
 
 "Did you tell anybody?" 
 
 "I don't know. Perhaps, now I come to think of it, 
 I did mention the matter to some one, but I forget who." 
 She looked red, and troubled, at Pauline, searching her 
 memory. "'Oh, I know . . . Cakes . . . Miss Argle! 
 But it would be in the strictest confidence, I am sure." 
 
 "And Miss Argle no doubt told Mrs. Delamere in the 
 strictest confidence. Well " Pauline's throat felt dry 
 and her voice came huskily "Well, that story has cost 
 Unwin his appointment. And yet he had been up all night 
 with a dying man whom he got to know by chance." 
 
 "I remember a stranger dying at the Dragon," said 
 Aunt Dickson. "But Lord South water is a just man, 
 and he would never be influenced to that degree by a 
 piece of trivial gossip. He is used to the world and 
 to Mrs. Delamere also, Pauline. Besides, we do not know 
 that Miss Argle said anything, after all." 
 
 "Some one must find out," replied Pauline. "Then 
 Lord Southwater must be told the exact truth." 
 
 Aunt Dickson shook her head. 
 
 "That would only make bad, worse. If Lord South- 
 water knows nothing about the story and has never heard 
 that Unwin is reputed to be rather irresponsible, one might 
 do a great deal of harm. For all you know, the post may
 
 126 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 be offered to him sometime in the future. "We can't pos- 
 sibly know Lord Southwater's reasons." 
 
 Aunt Dickson spoke urgently, fully believing what she 
 said; but the motives of all people are mixed, and she 
 was unaware how greatly her vague prejudice against 
 TJnwin as a husband influenced her conclusions. In ad- 
 dition to this, she was old and dependent on others, and 
 something below reason the instinct of self-preservation 
 which is so strong in the very young and the very old 
 made her unconsciously work to keep by her side one who 
 so reinforced her waning vitality. 
 
 "But you surely don't think we ought to sit still and 
 do nothing!" said Pauline. 
 
 "We must think it over," said Aunt Dickson, flushed 
 and disturbed. "I don't see what we can do that will not 
 injure TJnwin more than help him. You see, we don't 
 know Lord Southwater has heard anything." 
 
 Pauline walked to the window and stood looking out 
 at the soft rain slanting across the houses opposite with 
 their iron rails and gleaming knockers. 
 
 "I know," she said; "I who have taken his chance in 
 life away from him." 
 
 "No no. That is talking in a foolish exaggerated way, 
 not at all like you, Pauline," said Aunt Dickson. "You 
 meant no harm." 
 
 "But harm happened," persisted Pauline. "Oh! if you 
 could only unsay things!" 
 
 Aunt Dickson shook her head, looking into the fire, and 
 back on her own life. 
 
 "Yes, we all feel that, one time or another; but not 
 even God Himself can call back a word that is once 
 said." 
 
 A silence fell, which lasted until the light began to 
 grow dim. Aunt Dickson was wandering down who knows 
 what forgotten paths in which there was no memory of 
 Pauline, while Pauline herself stared out of the window 
 at the darkening street, feeling that sense of dull unhap-
 
 PAULINE SEES A PAGEANT 127 
 
 piness which ushers in agony of mind, as does an uneasy 
 torpor some physical illness. 
 
 She watched the lamplighter come forth with his little 
 ladder and kindle sparks of light among the shadows; it 
 all seemed meaningless and yet charged with fate, as trifles 
 do at such a time. 
 
 Then Aunt Dickson awoke from the half doze into 
 which she had fallen and said cheerfully 
 
 "Come, Pauline, it's no use crying over spilt milk. If 
 you are going always to think twenty times before you 
 speak once, you may as well be dumb for all the fun you '11 
 make in the world." 
 
 "Fun!" said Pauline, unconsciously echoing Mrs. 
 Chubb. "What's fun? You can be an ass and a prophet 
 at the same time if you are only solemn enough." 
 
 ' ' Fun is the sunshine of life, ' ' said Aunt Dickson. ' ' It 
 makes just the same difference to a grey life as sunshine 
 does to a grey street." 
 
 "It has led me into saying many things to amuse you 
 that I ought never to have said," retorted Pauline. "I 
 have grown to be a gossip. I will never tell you anything 
 again." 
 
 But before the words were out of her mouth she re- 
 pented them, and the hurt look on Aunt Dickson 's big, 
 kindly face, caused her to add hastily, "Oh! I didn't mean 
 that. I simply love coming in and telling you what I 
 have seen. Every time I come up the steps I think this is 
 home, and here is somebody waiting for me." 
 
 "But you blame me all the same, Pauline?" 
 
 "I don't. There is no one to blame but myself." 
 
 "I shall not sleep a wink to-night, troubling about it," 
 said Aunt Dickson. 
 
 "Nonsense!" replied Pauline, trying now to cover up 
 the truth. "As you say, we don't know that our story 
 has anything at all to do with Unwin's loss of the ap- 
 pointment." 
 
 Thus the tables were turned, and Pauline now became
 
 128 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 the one to soothe and reassure, because a bad night meant 
 a great deal in Aunt Dickson's state of health and must 
 be avoided at all costs. Finally, the tortoise-tail was 
 touched, and Aunt Dickson resumed cheerful command 
 of the daily round again. Eva entered to clear away the 
 tea-things which still stood about in the twilit room, and 
 when Pauline followed her into the kitchen with the cake- 
 stand she remarked casually 
 
 "Sorry I was late back from the butcher's, but I got 
 talking to Mrs. Chubb. She says Mr. Unwin hasn't got- 
 ten that job he was after. She worked at Vicarage to- 
 day and heard the news there." 
 
 "So I understand," said Pauline, beginning to put the 
 little yellow cakes away in round black japanned tins. 
 
 "They seem to say he has something else to go to," 
 continued Eva. "But anyway, he would never hang 
 round waiting for help from other people. He's the 
 independent sort that wouldn't get much if he did. They 
 say the Lord helps them that help themselves, and it's 
 a jolly good thing He does, for the neighbours won't. 
 They'll give all they've got to give to somebody as sits 
 in a lump and cries." 
 
 "Oh, I don't think so," said Pauline. 
 
 "Don't you? Well, look about you a bit then, Miss! 
 And Mr. Unwin 's like us Martins in that, I bet a button. 
 He'd rather be picked at than pitied." She paused. "But 
 he's got another post. Mrs. Chubb heard them say so. 
 Somewhere in Africa. It'll be a change from Wendle- 
 bury." 
 
 Eva lifted the kettle off the fire, so there was silence 
 for a moment, with the red firelight shining on the 
 kitchen fender and on the japanned box, and the rich 
 fragrance of cakes made from country butter and fresh 
 eggs. "He's got the job because the last man died; seems 
 it's an unhealthy part . . . the one afore that died too, 
 so they said. Mr. Unwin wants a good heart to go, doesn't 
 he? But men doesn't think much about things like that."
 
 PAULINE SEES A PAGEANT 129 
 
 "Did they ..." Pauline broke off and then went on 
 again, "did they say anything more about it?" 
 
 "No, but I dessay Mr. Unwin is a bit too flighty-like 
 for Lord South water," suggested Eva. "There's allus 
 tongues wagging; nothing you can lay hold on, you know, 
 but that's no help. I'd a deal rather have somebody say 
 I'd a wooden leg straight out than go hinting there was 
 something funny about me figure. I could give 'em a kick 
 and show 'em that I was all right. But you can't fight 
 nothing; it's like fighting against a fog." 
 
 "But surely the Vicar does not believe any harm of 
 Mr. Unwin?" 
 
 "No. He took Chubb and drove over this morning to 
 see Lord Southwater directly he heard, but it wasn't no 
 good." Eva looked kindly at Pauline. "Never mind, 
 Miss, you like hot weather. Or if not, there's as good fish, 
 in the sea as ever come out of it. Young men's all right, 
 but as my poor mother used to say when mine all seemed 
 to come to nothing somehow, 'Eva/ she says, 'some can 
 keep 'em and some can't; and if you can't you'd best let 
 'em go graceful.' ' She paused, searching in her good 
 heart for comfort. "I'm on'y tell you what I tell myself. 
 Providence meant us all to walk out, because He gave us 
 them kind of feelings, but He didn't mean us all to get 
 married, else He'd ha' provided enough men to go round." 
 
 She looked anxiously into Pauline's white face and 
 was relieved to see a smile. 
 
 "Well, Eva, perhaps we shall be two gay old maids 
 together; who knows?" 
 
 "There isn't any old maids now," said Eva. "We've 
 given up letting the men think we should be thankful for 
 the worst of 'em, and we'll soon let 'em know we'll go 
 without altogether unless we can have the best of 'em." 
 She settled her cap and gazed out defiantly at Pauline, 
 her own long, pale features all alight. "I'm a bachelor 
 girl; I am. I aren't going to let the thought of not get- 
 ting married down me."
 
 130 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "It's not ..." began Pauline, then she saw the im- 
 possibility of saying anything about the matter to Eva. 
 "Well, I hope Mr. Unwin may like Africa." 
 
 "Don't you worry," said Eva. "Change that's what 
 men like. And it isn't any use breaking your heart be- 
 cause nature didn't make 'em different. There's Mr. Un- 
 win now, as pleasant a gentleman as ever stepped, but 
 he'll walk out with you of an afternoon and go and see 
 Miss Lambert of an evening. And who blames him? I 
 don't. No more than I blames a bull for bellering. You 
 want to blame nature." 
 
 This philosophy, however, was lost sight of by Pauline 
 in the shock of finding out that her most secret and sacred 
 feelings were known as publicly as the advertisements for 
 chicken-houses and hay in the Wendlebury Herald. It 
 seemed to her odious, shameful; she longed, as she sat 
 playing draughts with Aunt Dickson, to turn her back on 
 Wendlebury for ever. Only her warm, living sense of 
 gratitude, a rare quality belonging only to souls that are 
 fundamentally generous, enabled her to contemplate a 
 series of evenings such as this one. 
 
 But when she was once alone in her own room, all 
 other thoughts were swamped by the fear that she had 
 injured the man she loved. Her delicate elusiveness had 
 kept her free from those thrills and half joys which some 
 girls know as soon as they are past childhood, and now 
 true love came to her with all the strength and freshness 
 of the first time. It was like a blind man who should 
 first see the sun rise across the Egyptian desert near the 
 temple of Hathor . . . the whole wonder and glory of 
 dawn revealed at once. 
 
 And now, piercing through that love, came the sharp 
 suspicion that she had been the one to take from Unwin his 
 chance in life; and few men have more than one. She 
 tossed about in a fever of remorse and powerlessness. If 
 she could only take back what she had said! She must
 
 PAULINE SEES A PAGEANT 131 
 
 take it back. There must be some way. God did not so 
 punish men for a chance word. 
 
 Then common-sense told her that God had nothing 
 to do with it. He works in a majestic order seed and 
 fruit cause and effect. He leaves us free. 
 
 She ceased weakly to blame God and blamed herself, 
 and those who do that have reached a stepping-stone. 
 They are no longer immersed in the. Slough of Despond, 
 however they may agonise. 
 
 And it was indeed agony that Pauline lived through 
 that night. Her fevered imagination threw terrible pic- 
 tures on the darkness, giant distorted shadows like those 
 cast by a candle on a blank wall. She saw the poor 
 servant-girl of whom Eva had once spoken, floating face 
 upwards on the green surface of the pond. She saw the 
 tragic company of great men who have been hounded out 
 of life by bitter tongues. The tales she had read of them 
 were imbued with a strange reality in passing through her 
 mind; her thoughts were fused by some action of the 
 nerves into pictures. It was a most dreadful pageant of 
 gossip that she witnessed, lying on her bed in that quiet 
 room. And over and over again, pushed vehemently away 
 but returning always like a refrain made visible, came 
 the picture of Unwin stretched gaunt under a burning 
 sky with a great bird flying towards him. 
 
 She knew well enough that if he did also die of fever, 
 like the previous man holding the post, it would probably 
 be in a tent or in his own bungalow. This vision was 
 only something half remembered from a picture-book seen 
 in childhood and now brought to the surface of her mind. 
 But the horror was none the less real. She saw the great 
 bird hovering and felt that it was she who had sent Unwin 
 out to die. 
 
 But with the first streak of dawn these nightmare 
 visions cleared away. For Pauline belonged to the mod- 
 ern type of woman who no longer resigns herself to en- 
 dure until she has tried with all her powers to make things
 
 132 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 better. And though she was overstrung and off the nor- 
 mal after the experience of the night, this only so far 
 affected her as to make a plan seem natural and feasible 
 which would, in the ordinary way, have seemed to her 
 useless if not ridiculous. 
 
 So it was in a hopeful mood that she breakfasted, 
 sent Eva to order Chubb 's cab and entered Aunt Dick- 
 son's bedroom, saying with a sort of high-strung casual- 
 ness 
 
 "It is a lovely morning. I will take those baby-clothes 
 to Mrs. Dunn to-day." 
 
 "You'll have to have Chubb," said Aunt Dickson. 
 "Poor Agnes, she would have been better off as my serv- 
 ant still than living at the world 's end on a pound a week 
 with five children and a husband fond of beer. But she 
 would have him. ' ' Aunt Dickson sighed and looked wist- 
 fully at Pauline. "If girls only knew when they were 
 well off!" 
 
 "Then the world would come to an end, Aunt Dick- 
 son." 
 
 "Well," said Aunt Dickson, "you ask Agnes to-day, 
 Pauline ; she '11 tell you whether it is not all a case of car- 
 rot and donkey." 
 
 "With romance for the carrot?" said Pauline lightly. 
 
 "With romance for the carrot," repeated Aunt Dick- 
 son heavily.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 PAULINE INTERVENES 
 
 HUBB 'S cab acted as an incentive to quiet reflection, 
 the even clop ! clop ! of Griselda 's hoofs which looked 
 as if they should have worn elastic-sided boots gradually 
 soothed Pauline's mind, and by the time she reached the 
 cottage where Aunt Dickson's gifts were to be deposited, 
 she was already wondering at the fears and imaginings 
 of the past night. 
 
 The woman came out with a child in her arms and 
 two others, sunburnt and golden-haired, clinging to her 
 skirts. Roses climbed about tihe doorway, and within 
 could be seen a kitchen with a red brick floor. But it 
 was not so much these outward things which made Pau- 
 line see that Aunt Dickson's old servant had been wise 
 to leave comfortable servitude for poverty and child-bear- 
 ing and hard work; it was the woman's grateful: "Mrs. 
 Dickson's the best mistress a girl ever had; so she is; but 
 you like to have a home of your own. ' ' 
 
 As Pauline went back to her cab, the words followed* 
 her a home of your own. She saw now that it was the 
 very spirit of home, brooding over that little cottage, which, 
 made it so lovely. The same spirit has made beautiful 
 thousands and thousands of houses, great and small, all 
 up and down England. No one can see the process, but 
 the result shines out between green branches and behind 
 little flower gardens everywhere. . . . We must be very 
 careful that we do not scare away the Spirit of Home as 
 we have the fairies. 
 
 Pauline paused a moment, looking back, her pale, nar- 
 
 133
 
 134 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 row, delicate face alight, her deep eyes shining. She was 
 one of the lucky ones who are attuned to such beauty and 
 respond to it as some others respond to a strain of music ; 
 and her own rather homeless life had deepened her ap- 
 preciation of this particular scene. 
 
 "Looks as if it 'ud be damp i' winter," remarked 
 Chubb. And Pauline started, coming down upon realities 
 with a sort of bump. 
 
 "I want to go on to Lord South water 's. It is only 
 three miles further," she said. 
 
 Chubb mounted his box without speaking, then re- 
 marked over his shoulder 
 
 "It'll be no go." 
 
 "What do you mean?" said Pauline, naturally sur- 
 prised. 
 
 "I mean Mrs. Delamere's there. You don't get no 
 subscriptions out of Lord Southwater when she is. Makes 
 him in a bad mood. I brought Vicar back yesterday with 
 a flea in his ear." He paused. "You'd best go home." 
 
 "I prefer to go on, now I am so far," said Pauline. 
 
 "Very well," answered Chubb. "Don't say I didn't 
 warn you." 
 
 So the cab rumbled on again between the flowery hedge- 
 rows, but Pauline no longer felt soothed by the monot- 
 onous sounds and her mind began to work with feverish 
 energy rehearsing beforehand what she would say to Lord 
 Southwater. At last the tall iron gates came into sight, 
 and Chubb spoke once more over his shoulder 
 
 "Here I stops!" 
 
 "But I want to go to the house," objected Pauline. 
 
 "Very like. So did Vicar. But they made fun o' my 
 cab and my mare, them shawfers did, and I ain't going 
 to stan' it again," pronounced Chubb. 
 
 "There may not be any chauffeurs," said Pauline. 
 
 "There is. I seed two cars turn in. I won't have my 
 cab and my mare made game on by shawfers; jumped up 
 chaps that's allus on their dignity because they haven't
 
 PAULINE INTERVENES 135 
 
 gotten any sattled place in the world yet." He paused, 
 growing purple and blowing out his cheeks. "They didn't 
 only make game o' my cab; they made game o' me!" 
 
 Griselda gave a comprehensive quiver which shook her 
 harness, and it was as though she said, in words: "How 
 could they be guilty of such sacrilege?" Chubb only 
 flickered her with the rein and said gruffly: "Whoa, 
 mare!" But he was touched to reiterate: "I won't go 
 up to the house for nobody living." 
 
 Pauline was therefore obliged to alight and make her 
 way on foot through the imposing portals and along the 
 broad, perfectly-kept drive which went direct and straight, 
 like Lord Southwater's earthly path, between prosperous 
 smooth lawns and discreetly blooming flower beds. As 
 she neared the house, repeating to herself with nervous 
 desperation the speech already prepared, she caught sight 
 of Mrs. Delamere also hurrying towards the house, but 
 careful not to look in her direction. 
 
 Instantly the truth flashed into Pauline's mind. Mrs. 
 Delamere had seen her arrival from some part of the park 
 or garden, had guessed that she w r as going to speak to 
 Lord Southwater about Unwin and was anxious to pre- 
 vent it. 
 
 There was no reason why Pauline should know this, but 
 she belonged to that numerous company of women who do 
 know things without being told, and she began to hurry 
 faster. Upon this Mrs. Delamere, still pretending not 
 to see Pauline, also increased her speed. It became a 
 neck-and-neck race between two ladies each anxious to pre- 
 serve a dignified deportment on account of the chauffeur 
 who waited by the steps and the butler dimly visible in 
 the gloom of the portico. Mrs. Delamere was long of limb 
 and uncommonly active, the crimson of middle age invaded 
 her nose, but at a walking match she was no mean oppon- 
 ent, and had the advantage of knowing her ground. A 
 swift cross-cut behind laurels brought her out well ahead 
 never was speed and majesty so combined in any fe-
 
 136 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 male over forty. Pauline gave up the contest and broke 
 into a run. She felt Mrs. Delamere hard on her track 
 as she panted out breathlessly to the butler 
 
 "Lord Southwater! Urgent business!" 
 
 "His lordship is expecting guests to luncheon," said 
 the butler ; impressed by Pauline 's hunted appearance and 
 desperate sincerity, as well he might be. 
 
 Pauline glanced round. Mrs. Delamere was rounding 
 the last geranium bed. 
 
 "Oh!" cried Pauline, clasping those expressive hands, 
 "please show me in at once. It is a church matter. His 
 lordship will be willing to see me, I know." 
 
 The butler also glanced at the advancing figure on the 
 drive and some faint understanding of the situation came 
 to him. He knew, at least, that Mrs. Delamere did not 
 wish Pauline to see his master, and he hated Mrs. Dela- 
 mere, in spite of her ingratiating politeness, because she 
 had once accused him behind his back of stealing the port. 
 It gave him a thrill of pleasurable emotion to say suavely : 
 "Walk this way, Madam," and usher Pauline into Lord 
 South water's study just in the nick of time. 
 
 "I know that lady," panted Mrs. Delamere in the hall. 
 "She is my guest. Fetch her out. There has been a mis- 
 take." 
 
 "Very sorry, Madam," said the butler smoothly. "His 
 lordship will no dcubt bring the lady to you directly." 
 
 "Then I will fetch her out myself!" said Mrs. Dela- 
 mere. 
 
 But she knew, and the butler also knew, that to enter 
 Lord South water's study uninvited was a deed beyond 
 Mrs. Delamere 's temerity. She had tried it once or twice 
 in earlier days and had learned her lesson. 
 
 "Yes, Madam," said the butler, retiring to repeat the 
 story elsewhere. 
 
 Mrs. Delamere stood for a moment or two frowning at 
 the great mahogany door-panels, then she moved nearer, 
 bent down and applied her ear to the keyhole.
 
 PAULINE INTERVENES 137 
 
 Lord Southwater came forward as Pauline entered, his 
 hand pontifically trifling with his watch-chain. He re- 
 ceived her as if she had been a deputation because that 
 was his manner and he would have greeted the genii 
 bursting from Aladdin's lamp in just the same way. But 
 he was aware, as he would have been then, of the un- 
 seemly explosiveness of the entry into his presence. 
 
 "Miss Westcott! Pray sit down," and he waited for 
 a justification. 
 
 Pauline was glad to sit down because her knees were 
 shaking under her and the carefully rehearsed speech 
 had departed into limbo, but the urgent possibility of 
 Mrs. Delamere just behind caused her to blurt out at 
 once 
 
 "I hear you are not giving Mr. Unwin the post. I 
 want to tell you that I set the story going about him. It 
 was all a mistake. ' ' 
 
 Lord Southwater glanced at the bell but thought bet- 
 ter of it. 
 
 "I cannot discuss this matter. May I ask if you have 
 come from Mr. Unwin ? " he asked. 
 
 "No. Oh, no!" cried Pauline. "You must never, 
 never think that. He would be simply furious with me 
 if he knew!" 
 
 "Then " Lord South water's glance now rested on 
 
 Pauline's vivid face. "You are doubtless engaged to be 
 married to him?" 
 
 "No. Yes. That is, not exactly engaged," faltered 
 Pauline, suddenly realising that she had as yet no right 
 to defend her lover. 
 
 But she looked so charming in her embarrassment and 
 distress that Lord Southwater being a man after all, 
 though so panoplied with virtue felt softened towards 
 her. 
 
 "Then what is it you want of me?" he asked, and 
 the difference in his tone reaching Mrs. Delamere even
 
 138 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 through the keyhole, though the words did not, she mur- 
 mured "Artful hussy!" 
 
 "I want to know why you did not appoint Mr. Un- 
 win to be your architect as you meant to do?" said Pau- 
 line. 
 
 Lord Southwater looked away, gathering sternness from 
 the bust upon the mantelpiece. 
 
 "I cannot enter into any explanation," he answered 
 stiffly. "I have made other arrangements." 
 
 "But you promised " urged Pauline. 
 
 Lord Southwater drew himself up. 
 
 "I made no promises. I have never yet knowingly 
 broken my word." 
 
 "You made him believe he was sure to have the post. 
 It was a promise, in spirit if not in the letter," said Pau- 
 line, clasping her hands and gazing at him with desperate 
 entreaty. "You do see that, don't you? A promise is a 
 promise if you mean it so and the other person knows 
 you do. You wouldn't wriggle out of it for a little 
 thing." 
 
 "I did not er wriggle out of it for a little thing," 
 responded Lord Southwater, returning her glance with 
 dignified annoyance. But that elusive quality in Pauline 
 which escaped so many chimed in with that something 
 deep hidden in Lord Southwater which made him love 
 to keep and beautify old churches: an austere sensuous- 
 ness, if it might be so called, which caused his glance 
 now to soften once more as he looked at the girl sitting on 
 the edge of the great carved settle. "I am sorry to state 
 that I acted as I did with an adequate reason. I can 
 say no more." 
 
 He had remained standing, and now moved towards 
 the door in token that the matter was ended, but Pauline 
 sat still. 
 
 "Stop!" she said, a hand unconsciously pressed on 
 her thudding heart. "I know why you did it. You 
 you heard a tale about Mr. Unwin being seen drunk in
 
 PAULINE INTERVENES 139 
 
 his dress clothes in the morning, at the doorway of the 
 Ryeford Inn." 
 
 Lord Southwater looked at her sharply, then dropped 
 his eyelids and fingered his watch-chain. "I do not listen 
 to gossip." 
 
 "No, but when Mrs. Delamere told you, you were bound 
 to believe," said Pauline quickly. 
 
 "I never said that Mrs. Delamere " began Lord 
 
 Southwater. 
 
 "No, but it was," said Pauline. 
 
 "You can know nothing about it," said Lord South- 
 water, his long, pink face deepening a little in colour. 
 
 Pauline rose and stood very straight before him with 
 the morning light on her face. 
 
 "I do know," she said breathlessly; "I do know. Be- 
 cause I was the one who saw him." 
 
 "Then why . . .?" said Lord Southwater, turning an- 
 other shade deeper: still he was charmed in spite of him- 
 self by that delicate vivid face, in shape a long oval like 
 those of the saints in the old churches, against the dark 
 panelling of the wall. "You should not need to ask in 
 that case." 
 
 "Oh, that is just why!" cried Pauline. "I I made a 
 most terrible mistake, Lord Southwater. Mr. Unwin was 
 not drunk, he was ill. He had been sitting up for sev- 
 eral nights with a man a stranger at the inn called John- 
 son and he was worn out. He had just come away from 
 the death-bed when I saw him." She paused. "Oh! I 
 wish my tongue had been cut out! But I told my aunt 
 just for something to say. And I have ruined Mr. Un- 
 win 's life. He will never have such a chance again. 
 There are no more such chances to be had. And to think 
 it was I . . ." 
 
 "My dear young lady," interrupted Lord Southwater, 
 returning to the writing-table. "You must not blame 
 yourself in this way. I certainly did hear the story to 
 which you allude, but one story, whatever the source,"
 
 140 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 he spoke with meaning, " would not suffice to make me 
 discard a man whom I considered in every way suitable, 
 especially after what had passed. No, I am not acting 
 on that at all. Only I made the fullest inquiries and I 
 regret to tell you in the deepest confidence that the 
 result was not satisfactory. I heard from many sources 
 that Mr. Unwin was not such a man as I should select 
 for this particular post." 
 
 "But what made you begin to inquire?" said Pauline. 
 
 "Well, in the first instance, perhaps it was the incident 
 to which you allude," admitted Lord Southwater. "Still, 
 I should have taken no notice of it if further investigation 
 had not proved ..." 
 
 "Oh!" cried Pauline, "that's the worst of it. Nothing 
 can be proved either one way or the other. It is as Eva 
 said: gossip is like a fog . . . closing down . . . shutting 
 out the truth. And yet you can't forget it. I know he is 
 steady and honourable. I know he does not drink. I'll 
 tell everybody what has happened. I don't care a farthing 
 what people think of me." 
 
 "Come, be reasonable," said Lord Southwater, and 
 though the words were cool, his tone again gave pain to 
 Mrs. Delamere at the keyhole. "If you blazon all this 
 abroad you will do Mr. Unwin a great injury. He will 
 be branded as a drunkard and a wastrel in the eyes of all 
 who know him, for such defence always defeats its own 
 object. Let me earnestly beg of you, if you have a re- 
 gard for this young man, to keep absolutely silent about 
 the matter. That is the one service you can do him. ' ' 
 
 "So I am to keep quiet and bear this all my life?" 
 said Pauline. "No, Lord Southwater, I can't do it. It 
 would kill me!" 
 
 She stared at him with blazing, dark eyes in a face as 
 white as death, and Lord Southwater felt uncomfort- 
 able. The presence of great emotions was to him like 
 seeing some one insufficiently clad, and yet he was moved 
 to awkward compassion.
 
 PAULINE INTERVENE 141 
 
 "If you wish to serve Mr. Unwin," he repeated, "you 
 will say nothing. You can only do him harm. And I 
 hear he has already obtained another appointment," he 
 added. 
 
 "Yes." Pauline moistened her dry lips. "There is 
 often a vacancy in that place. The last man died when 
 he had been out six months." 
 
 "That may happen anywhere," said Lord Southwater, 
 and now he went again with determination towards the 
 door. "I am very sorry, but I can do nothing." He 
 opened the door. 
 
 There was a suppressed feminine "Oh!" a rustle, and 
 Lord Southwater 's stern: "Marian, what brings you 
 here?" 
 
 "The Bracegirdles . . . just arrived . . . knew you 
 would not wish to keep them waiting," murmured Mrs. 
 Delamere, nonplussed for once. 
 
 ""Where is the butler?" demanded Lord Southwater. 
 
 "I came ... I thought ..." faltered Mrs. Delamere: 
 then she caught sight of Pauline's tear-bright eyes and 
 emotional look generally, and became herself again. "I 
 had an instinct that I was needed," she added with dig- 
 nity. "I am the only woman you have to help you in 
 the world, and my woman's instinct told me to come to 
 you." She paused again. "I will speak to Miss "West- 
 cott for you." 
 
 "Thank you," said Pauline, her voice very distinct 
 and steady, "but Lord Southwater has been most kind. 
 He has already given me the information I came to seek." 
 
 Mrs. Delamere glanced from her brother-in-law to Pau- 
 line, devoured with curiosity. What could have happened 
 in the room to make the girl look like that? And Lord 
 Southwater 's kind voice, rising and falling . . . w r hat did 
 it all mean? She smiled, flashing all her teeth upon the 
 pair of them, and put a hard, jewelled hand on Pauline's 
 arm. 
 
 "Come . . a little refreshment .
 
 142 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "No, thank you," said Pauline. "I have Chubb wait- 
 ing outside the gate." But her glance of unconscious 
 entreaty stirred some latent chivalry in Lord South water's 
 nature, and he hastened to say in a tone which none in 
 that house dared dispute 
 
 "Marian, kindly entertain the Bracegirdles until I can 
 come to them." Then he turned to Pauline: "I will 
 see you to your carriage. ' ' 
 
 So the ladies shook hands and Pauline stepped forth 
 with her cavalier, feeling as if she were taking part in 
 some high municipal function and that some one, some- 
 where, must be going to make a long, tedious speech be- 
 ginning and ending with a cough. The cough came, and 
 so aptly with her incoherent thoughts as to be almost 
 startling. 
 
 "Ahem! The geraniums are doing well this year." 
 
 "So it is no use?" said Pauline. "That is your last 
 word!" 
 
 Lord Southwater frowned, feeling this to be wanting 
 in good taste. 
 
 "I cannot discuss the subject further." 
 
 "I shall tell Mr. Unwin I have been," said Pauline. 
 
 "Then you will subject him to a great humiliation, in 
 addition to his natural disappointment, and that will 
 wound him more than what has gone before. A man never 
 forgets a hurt to his pride. ' ' Lord Southwater paused. ' ' I 
 liked Mr. Unwin, otherwise you may be sure I should not 
 trouble ... I am not given to argument." 
 
 "No," said Pauline, convinced at last. "I know that 
 the gods don't argue. Oh! I did not mean to be rude. 
 But if ever in your life you come to have injured some 
 one and can never make things right, you will perhaps 
 understand. ' ' 
 
 "I trust I should never injure any one unjustly," 
 said Lord Southwater, and it was perhaps not his fault 
 that he felt himself the living embodiment of justice. 
 
 "I'm not blaming you," said Pauline sadly. "I am
 
 PAULINE INTERVENES 143 
 
 blaming myself. I meant no harm. The Wendlebury 
 people meant no harm either. I don't suppose one per- 
 son in ten thousand would actually want to do any real 
 hurt to another. But the best of us don't mind saying 
 things every day that bring sorrow and shame and even 
 death to our neighbours. We don't mean it, but things 
 happen so." 
 
 Pauline forgot Lord Southwater as she spoke, with 
 all his hedged-in susceptibilities; she was simply obliged 
 to release her pressing thoughts to anything that had 
 ears. But that estimable peer was again conscious of an 
 awkwardness in seeing the human soul insufficiently clad 
 ... he liked bombazine and whalebone . . . and he was so 
 glad to see Chubb 's rotund figure between the tall, iron 
 gateway that he called out affably 
 
 "Morning, Chubb," and walked forward, speaking with 
 condescension of the weather. Then he said farewell to 
 Pauline, closed the cab-door with his large well-kept hands, 
 and saying to Chubb: "You have had a long wait, but 
 your horse seems a patient creature," he returned up his 
 own wide drive between the smooth lawns and neat flower- 
 beds, feeling that he had behaved exceedingly well. 
 
 Chubb shook the reins. "Gee-up!" then spoke to Pau- 
 line sitting behind. "My horse a patient creature . . . 
 and his father owned Bendigo ! ' ' 
 
 Pauline nodded vaguely, leaning back in the corner of 
 the old cab. She felt mentally and physically spent after 
 her sleepless night and the mental exertion of this morn- 
 ing, but her nerves were in that excited state which rushes 
 half a dozen trains of thought at once through the mind, 
 where they clash together at intervals in an aching con- 
 fusion. 
 
 A light shower fell, and through it Wendlebury looked 
 very peaceful and lovely, set in the midst of the green 
 country. And yet Pauline saw it as a place of strife, 
 where every one was stabbing his neighbour secretly, with
 
 144 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 the evil-enchanted dagger which may not hurt at the time 
 but festers afterwards. 
 
 This view was so dreadful to her that she accepted 
 Chubb 's halfpenny paper with thankfulness and tried to 
 fix her mind on it, but there, too, she seemed to see men 
 running gleefully to stab their fellow-men, or rejoicing 
 when they espied some one else doing it ... the world 
 and "Wendlebury all the same . . . one stupendous gos- 
 sip shop. . . . 
 
 As they neared the town, Chubb suddenly grunted, 
 staring at Griselda's ears: "You didn't get it, then?" 
 
 "Get what?" said Pauline starting. 
 
 "The subscription or what it was you went for." 
 
 "No," said Pauline. 
 
 "Ah!" said Chubb. "I was right. I generally am. 
 You should ha' taken my advice and waited until Mrs. 
 Delamere had gone away. But you would use your own 
 judgment. It's when females gets to using their own judg- 
 ment that things all goes wrong. Gee-up ! ' ' And Griselda 
 flicked her tail gently, as one who should say: "Look at 
 me! Here you behold the perfect type evolved by being 
 the property of a Chubb." 
 
 The cab rumbled down the familiar street between the 
 iron railings with the little prim gardens behind them and 
 Pauline alighted at her own house. 
 
 "Chubb," she said, nervously fumbling with her purse, 
 "this has been rather a long round for your mare." And 
 she placed an extra ten shillings in his hand beyond the 
 fare to the old servant's cottage which had been paid by 
 Aunt Dickson. 
 
 "Thank you, Miss," said Chubb woodenly, showing 
 no emotion as a matter of principle. It is doubtful if 
 his self-control would have failed had he been offered ten 
 pounds. 
 
 "And . . . Chubb ... It might be as well not to men- 
 tion that we went to Lord South water's. One . . one
 
 PAULINE INTERVENES 145 
 
 does not care for it to be known when an errand is a fail- 
 ure. You quite understand that." 
 
 ''Oh! ay," said Chubb, softened by the tip. "Bless 
 your life, Miss, you aren't the only one as has asked me 
 to keep quiet not by a long chalk. There's more than 
 you think for goes on in Wendlebury."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE MEETING 
 
 PAULINE went into the kitchen after the mid-day 
 meal. Eva was washing up the crockery and did not 
 expect to be interrupted. 
 
 ''Kettle's on, if Missus wants a cup of tea," she said, 
 rather shortly. 
 
 ' ' Eva ' ' Pauline hesitated. ' ' Has Mr. Unwin called ? ' ' 
 
 "No. Missus would have told you if he had. What 
 should he come for in a morning?" 
 
 "You're quite sure he did not inquire at the door?" 
 
 ' ' Bless my soul ! ' ' said Eva. ' ' D 'you think I shouldn 't 
 know -the difference between him and butcher's boy? I 
 may be getting on, as the next-door girl says, but I haven 't 
 lost me eyesight yet." With that she dashed down a 
 bowl and rattled some plates together. 
 
 Pauline turned away, making no further remark, and 
 Eva's irritability subsided. 
 
 "Well, Miss," she said, drying her hands, "kettle boils 
 now. Let me make you a good cup and go you and lie 
 down a bit. You look tired." 
 
 "No, thank you," said Pauline. 
 
 "There! You've taken the hig!" said Eva. "I did 
 speak a bit hasty but I meant nothing by it. On'y us 
 Martins allus was ones for being left alone after our din- 
 ners. We're made like that and we can't help it. Many's 
 the time I've seen my poor mother lock the lot on us into 
 the wood-shed till she'd had her bit o' nap, and if we 
 cried and fought, we did." 
 
 146
 
 THE MEETING 147 
 
 She was moving about quickly while she spoke and now 
 handed Pauline a cup of tea. 
 
 "That'll buck you up a bit," she remarked. "You 
 didn't have no dinner to speak of." She dropped her 
 voice and drew nearer still. "Mark my words, Miss, no 
 man's worth pining for. Eat your meals regular and you 
 can stand up against what comes, as my poor Mother said 
 when my second young man give me the go-by. Ay ; I 've 
 a lot to thank her for. It's easy-come, easy-go with me 
 and the fellers now, and if you take my advice, Miss Pau- 
 line, having no mother of your own, you'll do the same. 
 Take a leaf outer their book," she concluded. 
 
 "They are not all the same," said Pauline, putting 
 down her cup. 
 
 "Miss Pauline," said Eva solemnly, "when sweet- 
 hearting was first invented, that remark of yours was in- 
 vented to go with it. To tempt you on like. There's 
 a-many such things in the world . . . deep, they are . . . 
 you want to be on the look-out." She paused and low- 
 ered her tone still further. "I've thought about it, being 
 so much by myself, and you mustn't take it for a rude 
 remark, Miss Pauline, when I say that sweethearting leads 
 to families and families keeps the world a-going. So 
 there has to be sweethearting. But you don't want to 
 take any particular feller too serious. I'm not saying a 
 word against Mr. Unwin, but I lay he hasn't gone with- 
 out his dinner to-day on your account. And if he doesn't 
 come to see you, there's them he does see. Ask Mrs. 
 Chubb!" 
 
 "You mean Miss Lambert?" said Pauline, ashamed 
 of herself for saying it and yet unable to refrain. 
 
 "I do, " said Eva. ' ' The smoking fortune-telling hussy, 
 her! Not that she mayn't be a blessing in disguise, for 
 there would be no sense in you marrying Unwin now he 
 hasn't got the job and is going to a country full of 
 snakes and tigers. As my poor Mother often said, 'When
 
 148 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 you're forced to have a riddance, you're lucky when you 
 can see it's a good riddance.' ' 
 
 "I'm sure," said Pauline, feebly, from the kitchen-door, 
 "that Miss Lambert seems kind-hearted." 
 
 "That's what they call every scaly wag as robs his fam- 
 ily to treat his pals," retorted Eva. "They may write 
 what they like on my gravestone, but if they put that I'll 
 come back and haunt 'em." 
 
 All these warnings, however, fell on deaf ears, because 
 a woman in love is panoplied as by shining armour against 
 reason, entreaty or argument. 
 
 So Pauline went down the quiet street with a deter- 
 mination to seek her lover as he did not come to her. She 
 thought that his pride probably made him unwilling to 
 seem as if he had any claim on her in the changed circum- 
 stances. She was to be free to choose anew now his bril- 
 liant prospects had all vanished and he could only offer 
 the girl he loved a long, uncertain period of waiting. 
 
 But her heart beat high as she approached this moment 
 towards which every thought and feeling had been strain- 
 ing ever since she first heard the news. She had pictured 
 it a hundred times, and had dreamed what he would say 
 and she would answer in so real a fashion that it seemed 
 almost as if the interview had taken place. When she saw 
 him coming along the street an odd sense of staleness 
 mingled with her wild, passionate anticipation. 
 
 And he saw her with a revulsion of feeling which almost 
 caused him to go back and avoid her. Her pale face 
 and burning eyes in that little narrow street were not 
 more real and vivid than they had been through the long 
 hours of his sleepless night, yet they were so strangely 
 different . . . less near, less tenderly human . . . showing 
 overwhelmingly that delicate elusiveness which was a 
 feature of her soul beneath all her frankness. And just 
 in that moment her reserve was ready to break down for 
 the first time in her life with a completeness which ex- 
 pansive natures can never experience.
 
 THE MEETING 149 
 
 But her knowledge that he owed his misfortune to her 
 gossiping tongue stiffened up those barriers again before 
 she reached him, leaving her awkward, stilted, constrained. 
 
 "Well met!" he said lightly, avoiding, as it were, the 
 very hem of her heart's garment in his desire to leave her 
 free. 
 
 "I hoped to see you," she said awkwardly. "I'm so 
 sorry about Lord Southwater!" 
 
 His quick, hurt pride winced at the touch, and yet a 
 moment before he had longed for her pity and sympathy 
 with the simplicity of a hurt child wanting its mother. 
 It happens so when two people love each other and one 
 is keeping back a secret which preoccupies the mind. All 
 the spoken words are enough, but the much more impor- 
 tant unspoken conversation becomes meaningless and jang- 
 led. For in love, as in all affairs of the emotion, it is the 
 unspoken talk that matters. 
 
 Thus these two each felt that their inner words went 
 unanswered, and Unwin replied with that vague feeling 
 of flatness and disappointment which we all know in sim- 
 ilar circumstances. 
 
 ' ' Oh ! I don 't mind so much as all that, you know. I 
 have always wanted to travel and it will be a chance to 
 see something of the world." 
 
 "But the climate " said Pauline. 
 
 "Not so bad as it is painted," said Unwin, all his con- 
 stitutional hatred of being pitied surging up within him. 
 He would be pitied by no one now, not even Pauline. "I 
 think I shall like it on the whole." 
 
 "Then you won't mind leaving Wendlebury?" said 
 Pauline, but her own aroused pride caused her to add 
 hastily: "Of course not. It is no place for an active 
 young man." 
 
 "Well, I shall not be a cumberer of the ground much 
 longer," said Unwin. 
 
 "I didn't mean that, of course, only there is very little 
 scope," said Pauline nervously. "Only elderly ladies
 
 150 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 and doctors and parsons. You '11 be glad to get away from 
 walking up and down the market-place and playing bowls 
 at the inn." 
 
 So that was what his daily life had looked like to her! 
 His irritated nerves and sick heart made him say with 
 a smile 
 
 "Yes, it will be delightful to get away into the open." 
 
 "Be sure you take plenty of quinine with you," said 
 Pauline, also smiling. She would answer him in his own 
 tone though she died of it afterwards. "Well, I shall be 
 seeing you again heaps of times before you go, of course," 
 she added, moving on. 
 
 "I hope so, indeed," he answered, raising his hat. 
 
 And so they parted gaily enough in the lightly falling 
 rain. Some leaves in a garden near blew back, and the 
 undersides showed white against the wind. Pauline was 
 to remember just how they looked so long as she remem- 
 bered anything, though at that moment she was not con- 
 scious of seeing them. 
 
 And Unwin walked on, head erect and hat cocked a 
 little, as if the world went extra well with him. She did 
 not want him. Good ! She should have every facility for. 
 getting rid of him as easily as possible. And nobody in 
 Wendlebury, or out of it, should pity him on any count. 
 
 As he passed the Pritchards' house, Miss Amelia looked 
 out, and her tender heart rejoiced to see him so debonair. 
 
 "See, Harriet!" she cried. "I believe he does not mind 
 losing the situation with Lord Southwater after all." 
 
 Miss Harriet, who had not been well for the past day 
 or two, glanced out and said querulously 
 
 ' ' No doubt he is already planning a gay life out there. 
 A light nature " 
 
 "But poor Pauline " 
 
 "Pauline's well rid of him, and hell soon find conso- 
 lations," snapped Miss Harriet. 
 
 "You mean . . . native ladies?" said Miss Amelia, 
 flushing her delicate pink. "Oh, I think not."
 
 THE MEETING 151 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 Poor Miss Amelia searched for a ground for her helief 
 in Unwin, but could only grasp the rather feeble conclu- 
 sion: "Well, he's so fair-skinned himself . . . looks so 
 very clean ... a black wife. Such a painful contrast." 
 
 ' ' Wife ! Get me my medicine, ' ' said Miss Harriet. ' ' And 
 I might fancy a little scrap of chicken for my supper." 
 
 Miss Amelia flushed again, more deeply. 
 
 "You wouldn't prefer an egg?" 
 
 "I hate eggs after breakfast. You ought to know that 
 by this time," said Miss Harriet. "Really, Amelia, I 
 have left the housekeeping to you since I was not well, 
 but I shall be obliged to take it in hand again myself. I 
 don't know what you do with the money, for you think 
 ten times before buying a fowl, and I always found our 
 allowance ample." 
 
 "But you are such a splendid manager, Harriet," said 
 Miss Amelia humbly, flushing until the tears came into her 
 eyes, and her hands trembled. "Our father always used 
 to say you could manage Europe if you could get at it. 
 I can see him now saying it, sitting in that very chair." 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Harriet, turning from the subject of 
 the housekeeping allowance. "He appreciated my intel- 
 lect as neither dear Mother nor you did but then you 
 were never intellectual, Amelia. I remember you as a 
 young girl, all sensibility and blue ribbons. It is a wonder 
 you did not marry, for men like that sort of thing, I be- 
 lieve." 
 
 "You ought to have married a Bishop," said Miss 
 Amelia. "I am sure if any Bishop had known of you 
 he would have come and sought you out. He would 
 have felt it a duty." She paused. "Harriet, if, as some 
 people think, we are placed in a future life where we ought 
 to have been here, you will be in charge of a bishop 
 with a large number of the younger clergy in the imme- 
 diate neighbourhood. Of course, there will be no marry-
 
 152 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 ing or giving in marriage. . . . However, perhaps some 
 other arrangement ..." 
 
 But Miss Amelia was so plainly speaking at random that 
 Miss Harriet stared. 
 
 "Really, Amelia," she said, "I sometimes wonder if 
 you are not becoming imbecile. What's the matter with 
 you?" 
 
 "Poor young Unwin! I felt so sorry. I have so often 
 seen him pass and now he is going away," flustered Miss 
 Amelia. 
 
 "You can spare your pity then," said Miss Harriet. 
 "I have no doubt he is going down to see that woman." 
 
 And indeed, as often happened, Miss Harriet was not 
 far out in her calculations, for a few hours later Unwin 
 actually did walk from the office to the Bowling Green 
 Inn past Delia Lambert's lodgings and slackened his foot- 
 steps at her door, uncertain whether to knock or not. 
 Then it is such trifles which influence all the crises of 
 life Delia looked out of the window, and that decided 
 him to go in. He felt a sudden, irresistible desire to 
 confide in this woman who understood men, and who 
 would not seek to know more than he wished to tell. He 
 could talk to her about himself, as no man of Unwin 's 
 type can do to another man, and he had that longing 
 known to most healthy, normal human beings sooner or 
 later, to remove the barrier set up by years of reticence. 
 
 But the mood was subconscious or he would have re- 
 mained outside, not trusting himself in that shabby arm- 
 chair by the little open window where a jar of mignonette 
 shaded him from the passers-by. He was quite unaware 
 of any danger and only felt a grateful sense of rest and 
 security as he lit a cigarette after passing one to Delia. 
 She did not rush into conversation but said a desultory 
 phrase or two about simple things. The voices of chil- 
 dren playing, the faint, clear sound of Wendlebury beck 
 running over stones behind the row of old cottages, a crow
 
 THE MEETING 153 
 
 flying home above the red roofs all the sounds of the 
 little country town at evening floated through the open 
 window and mingled with the clean fragrance of the mi- 
 gnonette. 
 
 Unwin felt as a wounded man may do who first finds 
 himself safe in hospital, and for a little while forgets his 
 sufferings in the heavenly relief of not having to keep it 
 up any longer. 
 
 "Playing rounders," he said, nodding in the direction 
 of the voices. 
 
 "Yes. They seem jolly," said Delia. 
 
 Then they sat silent again, the blue smoke curling about 
 the green heads of mignonette as Delia held her cigar- 
 ette between her dark, slender fingers. 
 
 "You look much better," said Unwin after a time. 
 
 "Yes. I'm better than I have been for ages. The 
 simple life suits me, I suppose. And there 's something re- 
 poseful in the place . . . you can't describe. ..." 
 
 "No," said Unwin. But it was plain enough that even 
 the vagrant Delia was undergoing the Wendlebury change 
 which most people felt sooner or later. Sooner, if they 
 possessed imagination and a quickly responsive nature, 
 but later, anyway, should they remain long enough among 
 the straight-fronted houses beneath the little spire. 
 
 Delia was feeling this change or influence to the full as 
 she leaned back on the ugly sofa, but she was not actively 
 conscious of it, any more than of the scent of the mignon- 
 ette or of the mingled voices of Wendlebury at evening. 
 
 "Sometimes," she said, "I think I shall stay here for 
 ever ! Just getting older and older until some fine autumn 
 day I drop from the bough ; like Miss Amelia. ' ' 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 ' ' Fancy your wanting to do anything like Miss Amelia. ' ' 
 
 Delia sighed idly. 
 
 "Well! it won't last, but it's nice while it does. The 
 wandering spirit will get hold of me again and I shall 
 have to move on. It's in my blood. Heaps of people
 
 154 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 are the same. The Wandering Jew was not a celibate, 
 I'm sure, and I do believe he spent a lot of time in Eng- 
 land." 
 
 Unwin removed his cigarette and sat looking at it. Delia 
 said nothing. At last he spoke casually 
 
 "Well, I'm off, you know. I'm going to join the wan- 
 derers. ' ' 
 
 "West Africa? That's a long trail. Shall you like 
 it?" 
 
 He got up and stood by the fireplace. 
 
 "I've lost that job, you kno^v." 
 
 "Yes. Well, you've got another," said Delia. 
 
 "I don't know why Lord Southwater turned me down, 
 but I have had a hint that he thought me unsteady or 
 something of that sort." 
 
 "That's impossible," said Delia decidedly. Then she 
 gave a little laugh. "Chubb thinks you too fond of a 
 joke, but Lord Southwater couldn't be such an owl as to 
 deprive a good man of a post for that reason." 
 
 "No," said Unwin. "He is a just man. Well, I must 
 leave it. Perhaps somebody else turned up whom he 
 thought more suitable. Or a high church dignitary may 
 have pulled a string. You never can tell. A man with 
 a great deal of power is nearly always capricious." 
 
 Silence again, Delia offering no futile condolences, and 
 at last Unwin said, coming back to his chair 
 
 "I suppose you know how I wanted that job? What 
 it meant to me? Not for the money exactly. ..." 
 
 "Yes," said Delia. 
 
 "It was the chance of my lifetime," said Unwin. "And 
 I never dreamed for one second that there was any doubt 
 about it. I regarded the appointment as good as made. 
 So you would, if you had heard Lord Southwater talking 
 to me in Wendlebury Church, knowing him for the man 
 he is." He paused gloomily, staring into space. "By 
 Jove! I wonder if that old hag Mrs. Delamere has been 
 repeating any stupid Wendlebury gossip about me. ' '
 
 THE MEETING 155 
 
 "But there's nothing for them to gossip about," said 
 Delia. 
 
 ' ' They don 't wait for that, ' ' said Unwin. 
 
 "No, I suppose not." Delia sat looking down, pre- 
 occupied with something beyond Unwin 's misfortune. 
 Then she raised her head suddenly and her long, care- 
 less figure under the loose draperies grew taut. "We 
 laugh at gossip," she said. "We might as well laugh at 
 death. It was talk that drove me out into the world at 
 twenty and ruined my life. I was a fool and threw 
 myself at a man's head so openly that people knew. He 
 began the game and I would not realise when he was 
 tired. I can see myself now poor, little, desperate fool 
 trapping him on his way home from business. I didn't 
 care if the other men laughed. I would have gone through 
 a world of laughing devils to meet him." She broke off, 
 letting her hands fall with that odd, crooked smile of hers. 
 ' ' Lord ! To think I could love like that ! And all wasted ! ' ' 
 
 "You got something out of it," said Unwin. 
 
 "Did I? I wonder. Anyway, the town naturally rang 
 with my misdoings and my mother said I had ruined my 
 sisters' prospects in life. People would be frightened to' 
 come to the house. So I went. It seemed the only way." 
 
 "Your mother must have been very callous," said Un- 
 win. 
 
 "No, she was always kind, but she wag not very brave, 
 and gossip makes cowards of many brave women," said 
 Delia. "Goodness! If only we could see this minute 
 before us the miseries brought about by talk, I do believe 
 we should find it worse than that produced by drink. But 
 there!" She flicked her cigarette ash. "No more of 
 that subject. I don't know why I let myself go so. I 
 think it's because I have had a lot of time lately to re- 
 member things. After all, Wendlebury would not be 
 Wendlebury if people were not so vitally interested in each 
 other." 
 
 "I like the little town," said Unwin. "When I first
 
 156 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 joined my father, I found it dull after a big city, but 
 there's an atmosphere . . . you could fancy a man be- 
 ginning something fine here that would never pay and 
 doing it happily all his life. I'm pretty sure you could 
 recapture the love of the work for the work's sake in 
 Wendlebury. ' ' 
 
 Delia looked at him with deep attention, studying his 
 charming open face as he spoke. 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' she said. ' ' Well, why not try it ? " 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Go to Lord Southwater and tell him about his brother. 
 He is a proud man, but not without feeling, any more 
 than any one else. Gratitude will make him do something 
 for you, even if you do not get the post." 
 
 ' ' We talked that over before. You know I can 't do it, ' ' 
 said Unwin. "I wouldn't break a promise to a dead man 
 who trusted me for fifty appointments." 
 
 "No, I suppose not," said Delia, then she sighed and 
 got up to light the lamp. "Poor Delamere; he brought 
 unhappiness to every one who was connected with him. 
 And yet " She smiled suddenly. "I got something out 
 of that too. I was a fool twice, which is unforgiveable. 
 But I'd rather that, than not be able to be a fool at all." 
 
 "H-hem! Will you have your blinds down?" said 
 the little dressmaker, peering in with real reluctance but 
 urged by her sense of propriety which amounted to a 
 passion. "People can see inside so clear with the lamp 
 lighted. Not that there is anything in ladies smoking 
 nowadays. Quite the latest, of course. But what is 
 only dashing in Ryeford Terrace gets peculiar in Bowling 
 Green Row, if you take my meaning?" 
 
 "I quite understand," said Unwin gravely. 
 
 "It's not what you do, it's what people see you do 
 that makes things a little unpleasant sometimes," said 
 the dressmaker apologetically. "I am making a cup of 
 cocoa for Miss Lambert; may I press you to take one 
 too?"
 
 THE MEETING 157 
 
 "No, thank you," said Unwin, accepting the hint. "I 
 am going now. I had no idea it was so late." 
 
 So the dressmaker retired, aching with curiosity. Her 
 great liking for Unwin could not hide the fact that he 
 was paying marked attentions to two ladies. She did 
 not believe that Miss Pauline Westcott would have at 
 all approved of his sitting there smoking cigarettes at 
 nearly eleven o'clock at night with Miss Lambert. Be- 
 sides, people would talk. 
 
 But Unwin, walking down the quiet streets where drawn 
 blinds gleamed blank in the moonlight, was once more 
 impervious to the talk of Wendlebury. For a moment he 
 had glimpsed the possible importance of it in speaking 
 of Mrs. Delamere and Lord Southwater, but the realisation 
 was so foreign to his temperament that it did not last, and 
 before he had passed the corner of Ryeford Terrace the 
 twittering tongues of the little sleeping town were no more 
 to him than the hushed twittering of the sparrows in the 
 eaves ... a part of life here and of the familiar, uncon- 
 sidered day. 
 
 His thoughts circled round the woman he had just 
 left. The ravaged, lined face, high cheek-bones and burn- 
 ing eyes, the long figure in the loose clothes which yet 
 seemed made for her and no one else, the magnetic charm 
 which made all she said interesting. He was surprised that 
 she seemed to have been so unlucky in her love affairs, 
 not realising that he himself placed her on a plane far 
 below Pauline because she was capable of giving lavishly 
 with both hands, having no reserves. He was glad to take 
 her friendship and sympathy, but the Romance in him 
 followed an elusive image of Pauline flitting before him 
 down the grey street. Because of the passionate tender- 
 ness in her which could, he believed, be found by him 
 alone, he was ready to follow the dream to his life 's end. 
 
 He pictured himself growing old alone and thinking 
 of her thus beneath the startling moonlight of a foreign 
 land. The clock struck twelve. He stood still, wonder-
 
 158 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 ing how long it would be before lie heard the bells of 
 Wendlebury chiming out another June. 
 
 Then the mood passed and he walked briskly on, his 
 footsteps echoing in the empty streets, determined to 
 waste no more feeling over a girl who could be cold to 
 him because he was unfortunate. Pauline ought to have 
 shown herself kinder than ever before at that first meet- 
 ing after his disappointment, and she had been embar- 
 rassed and cold. She need not fear he was not the man 
 to pursue a girl against her will on the strength of a 
 half-given promise. There should not be the very least 
 difficulty, even to her delicate, sensitive perceptions, in 
 getting rid of him. 
 
 All of which was very contradictory indeed; but if 
 people could see clearly when in love there would be very 
 few love-stories either lived or written only a straight 
 march from the first thrill to the reserved compartment.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT 
 
 LORD SOUTHWATER walked in his garden at eve- 
 ning feeling subconsciously a brighter red in the ge- 
 raniums and a smoother green in the lawns because of the 
 departure of Mrs. Delamere after her annual visit. And, 
 being kindly disposed to the Universe, he thought with 
 pleasure of restoring that little church where Pauline 
 and Unwin had suffered involuntary imprisonment. Then 
 his thoughts strayed naturally to the architect, and he 
 regretted very much being unable to employ Unwin . . . 
 a pleasant young man . . . one who had his work at 
 heart. . . . Lord Southwater again felt the spark dor- 
 mant in himself flash out in response to that bright ar- 
 dour of the enthusiast which he had so plainly seen in 
 Unwin. 
 
 He paced slowly; there was a scent of gathered hay 
 in the air; the world was good, and Mrs. Delamere 
 for all practical purposes not in it. He began to wonder 
 if the reports concerning Unwin were altogether true. 
 Lord Southwater was a man of the world, albeit a narrow 
 world, and he did not place too much credence in re- 
 ports emanating from a little town about a high-spirited 
 young fellow. The Vicar obviously liked and trusted Un- 
 win, though he had not been able to deny that the young 
 man was considered a little wanting in ballast. 
 
 Still, the peaceful evening, the sight of his own hand- 
 some possessions, the dinner he had recently eaten, all 
 inclined the excellent peer to kindness, added to which he 
 had ezperienced a difficulty in finding another man to his 
 
 159
 
 160 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 mind. He began as the most high-principled widower 
 may at such an hour to think with a certain avuncular 
 pleasure of Pauline's face and voice and of what she had 
 said to him. Her charm which by no means appealed 
 strongly to men as a rule had almost taken his fancy 
 captive. He felt he should like her to be happy. Finally, 
 he told himself that the strict justice in which he felt such 
 pride made a personal investigation of the matter neces- 
 sary. He would go quietly and unannounced to Wendle- 
 bury during the ensuing week and see what he could find 
 out on his own account. Perhaps he might after all be 
 able to appoint Unwin and the whole affair would thus be 
 completely and satisfactorily settled. 
 
 Pauline, meanwhile, was in bed with a bilious attack, 
 the unfortunate and unromantic result in her case of 
 excess of emotion. No girl can feel a heroine even to 
 herself under such conditions, and when she came forth 
 at last, limp and sallow, her one idea was to see Unwin 
 at once and tell him what had been on her mind cease- 
 lessly during all those restless hours. She felt that, come 
 what might, she could not bear the suspense any longer. 
 For she felt sure by this time that Unwin had traced the 
 story of the Green Dragon doorway to her, and that he 
 remained away because he naturally could not forgive 
 her. She must try to explain that it was not quite as 
 bad as it seemed. No, she would not do that. She would 
 just throw herself on his generosity and ask him to for- 
 give her. 
 
 Her knees shook a little as she walked along the street, 
 and Aunt Dickson from the window signalled that she 
 would do better to stroll towards the country. But she 
 kept on in the direction of Unwin 's office and soon en- 
 countered Mary Carter, tennis racket in hand 
 
 "Coming to the club this afternoon?" 
 
 "No, to-morrow. I have been seedy," said Pauline. 
 
 Mary laughed.
 
 AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT 161 
 
 "Well, I like Saturdays best myself. It is nice to have 
 a man or two there. By the way talking of men we 
 have Miss Walker sewing for us to-day!" 
 
 Pauline smiled abstractedly, anxious to get on. 
 
 "That sounds like a riddle. Well, see you to-morrow." 
 
 ' ' Of course, if you don 't want to hear what Miss Walker 
 said ..." 
 
 "I do! I do! But I'm rather in a hurry. What is 
 it?" said Pauline. 
 
 "Only that we need none of us bother ourselves about 
 Unwin's misfortunes," said Mary. "There I was, feel- 
 ing so sorry for him, and getting mother to ask him to 
 dinner on Sunday, and it appears that he goes and smokes 
 with that fortune-telling woman nearly every night until 
 all hours." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "Well nothing so awful in that," said Pauline, with 
 an effort. 
 
 "Oh, no. Miss Walker particularly insisted that she 
 acts chaperone in the kitchen and turns him out at 
 eleven," laughed Mary. "Sometimes with cocoa. You 
 can't as she says see anything really wrong in an inter- 
 view that ends in cocoa. ' ' She paused. ' ' Dear me ! How 
 ill you look, Pauline. You really ought not to be out by 
 yourself." 
 
 "I'm all right," said Pauline hastily. "I must get on 
 now." 
 
 "Then," said kind, commonsense Mary, "I'm coming 
 with you; that's all. Where are you going?" 
 
 Pauline looked down for a moment. Where was she 
 going? Not to throw herself impulsively upon the gener- 
 osity of a man who could so easily find consolation for 
 her absence in the society of a woman like Miss Delia 
 Lambert. 
 
 "To to the draper's shop," she said, naming a place 
 where she was certain not to see Unwin.
 
 162 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "Kiglit-oh!" said Mary, cheerily putting off her after- 
 noon 's amusement. 
 
 But as luck would have it they encountered Unwin, 
 and the sight of him caused Pauline to flush so deeply 
 that she looked unusually well. In pursuance of his inten- 
 tion to leave her free especially if she could look like 
 that while he was broken-hearted he affected an over-done 
 jauntiness. 
 
 "Jolly weather, isn't it? I see you're off to tennis, 
 Miss Carter. You off too, Miss Westcott?" 
 
 "Not to-day," said Pauline, her voice sounding very 
 cold because only with a great effort could she control it 
 to speak at all. 
 
 "Oh! I expect I shall see you to-morrow then. The 
 ground's in fine condition.'" 
 
 "You have not played much this year so far," remarked 
 Mary. 
 
 "No. Must make up for lost time. Not many Sat- 
 urdays left now. Good-bye." 
 
 "Sorry to hear it. Good-bye," said Mary. 
 
 So they parted, and he had alluded to his departure 
 after all, which he had not meant to do: while Pauline 
 could have beaten herself for being unable to bring out 
 any word, good or bad, with Mary listening. She could 
 not even offer him the decent civility of an acquaintance 
 and say she was sorry to hear of his departure, because 
 all her strength was needed to keep the door shut on her 
 surging, pressing emotions. She was weak and a little 
 feverish still, and the effort left her so flushed and bright- 
 eyed that Mary said gaily 
 
 "It has done you good meeting Unwin, though you 
 were so distant with him. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Distant ? ' ' murmured Pauline vaguely, her heart thud- 
 ding in heavy beats against her side. 
 
 ' ' Why, yes, ' ' said Mary. ' ' But it is only ' ' She did 
 
 not continue her sentence, because Pauline was not a per- 
 son to whom you could say everything, but she felt it quite
 
 AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT 163 
 
 proper that a man who had played fast and loose with a 
 girl after the manner of Unwin with Pauline should be re- 
 ceived coldly. 
 
 "I suppose that Miss Lambert is rather fascinating in 
 her way?" she asked, after a pause. 
 
 ' ' Chubb says so, ' ' said Pauline, achieving a little laugh. 
 
 "You'd hardly expect Chubb and Unwin to have the 
 same taste," said Mary; then putting on a woman-of- 
 the-world tone that went comically with her rosy, round 
 face, she concluded : ' ' Men seem to have a different stand- 
 ard. You never know what they'll fancy, but I believe 
 they're all alike in the end about the sort they do fancy. 
 It's something hidden from a woman that men see. Look 
 at that ugly, serpenty, red-haired Mrs. Bracegirdle . . . 
 and yet they say all the men fall in love with her. It's a 
 mystery, like lots of other things. ' ' 
 
 And while the two friends walked home again, con- 
 templating with such wide girls' eyes the wonders of love 
 and life, Unwin sat in his office contemplating the same 
 from a man's point of view. But one great difference 
 was that while they wondered, he thought he knew all 
 about love. He decided now that he could do well enough 
 without that sort of thing and that it was an extra in a 
 man's life like keeping a motor car whatever it might 
 be for a woman. Still he sat in the meantime, pencil in 
 hand, staring at the blank paper, seeing Pauline's face 
 take form on the dim whiteness and her deep eyes shine 
 out at him in tender inquiry. 
 
 So the ceaseless round of love, scorn, indifference, long- 
 ing, love, went on in Unwin 's heart as it has done and will 
 do in every lover's through the ages, seeming little to 
 many who have passed it by, but always big with fate to 
 those who look back on their lives with understanding. 
 
 He had now dispensed even with an office boy, so his 
 seclusion was undisturbed. The clock ticked on through 
 the July afternoon a brief shower slanted across the 
 panes and died again a boy went past calling strawber-
 
 164 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 ries, which are late in Wendlebury life stretched out 
 before him like a long, dull plain. At last a timid knock 
 sounded on the door and he called "Come in!" but no 
 one entered, so he called again, and a high, female voice 
 answered nervously 
 
 "If you could ... I'm rather burdened ... so sorry 
 to trouble you. ..." Thus he knew that Miss Amelia 
 waited without. 
 
 As he ushered her in, striving to relieve her of her 
 parcels, she murmured over and over again: "So sorry 
 ... I should never have ventured . . . only I felt in this 
 matter I had only you and my Creator to depend on ... 
 and He, naturally . . . not a thing you could ask ..." 
 
 "Sit down," said Unwin gently, finally removing the 
 parcels and placing them on the table. "It is such a 
 warm day. Rest a little before you begin to tell me." 
 
 "Rest!" said Miss Amelia, her pale eyes flooding with 
 tears. "That's just what I can't do, day or night." She 
 pressed her handkerchief to her lips and pulled herself 
 together. "Mr. Unwin, let us be business-like. I I par- 
 ticularly wish to place this matter on a business footing, 
 
 if possible. Only " and her lip began to tremble 
 
 again, "there can be no business about one side of it 
 never! Nothing but kindness on your part and eternal 
 gratitude on mine." 
 
 From the way in which this last co^nect^d sentence 
 came out, following the incoherent rambling beforehand, 
 it was evident that Miss Amelia had saved this spar 
 alone from the wreck of a fine address composed in the 
 solitude of her own bedroom. 
 
 "Anything I can do, I shall be only too glad," began 
 Unwin, then, to lighten the situation he added with a 
 smile, "so long as it is not another ghost." 
 
 "N-not exactly that," said Miss Amelia, "but still an 
 unpleasantness connected with house-property." She 
 paused and began again earnestly : ' ' Mr. Unwin, you may 
 have noticed that we only contributed half-a-crown to
 
 AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT 165 
 
 the School Treat Fund this year instead of our usual 
 guinea?" 
 
 "No, indeed/' said Unwin. "How should I?" 
 
 "The list was published in the Parish Magazine," said 
 Miss Amelia; "I can't think how you failed to notice it." 
 She lowered her voice. "Mr. Unwin, I grieve to say that 
 I told a lie the first deliberate lie of my life in con- 
 nection with that magazine. I said to my sister that it 
 had been accidentally destroyed when in reality I burned 
 it with my own hands. And why ? ' ' 
 
 "Perhaps you thought it too exciting reading for an 
 invalid," jested Unwin, willing to relieve the emotional 
 tension from which the poor lady was evidently suffering. 
 
 Miss Amelia shook her head. 
 
 "No," she said, in all good faith, "not on this occa- 
 sion, though I have known times when there have been 
 letters from the Vicar about the new heating apparatus 
 in the church and so on. . . . But there was nothing con- 
 troversial in this number." She bent forward until her 
 lightest whisper could be heard and glanced behind her 
 at the door. "It is this. We planned to contribute a 
 guinea as usual, and I gave half-a-crown only, retaining 
 the other eighteen-and-six for household expenses. But 
 this source of extra income is terribly limited, as you will 
 understand, and my sister has to have every luxury and 
 no worry. It is rather singular," concluded Miss Amelia, 
 "how often doctors seem to prescribe that, and how very 
 difficult it is to get. You would wonder sometimes that 
 they did not try to substitute something else which, in the 
 world as it is, one would find more readily obtainable." 
 
 Unwin saw that Miss Amelia was chattering nervously 
 on to put off saying what she had come to say, so he only 
 responded: "Yes," and added at once, "Well, what is 
 it, Miss Amelia?" 
 
 "My dear father used to say," she began, flushing deli- 
 cately all over her pink-and-white face, "that a person 
 who discussed his money matters outside the family circle
 
 166 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 was entirely without refinement. But " and the last 
 words rushed forth, desperate and unpremeditated: "If 
 I don't discuss them the butcher and grocer will. The 
 house we own is unlet. The tenant ran away just before 
 the rent was due, and I am not such a good manager as 
 Harriet. I was depending on the money. But now I 
 dare not tell her for fear of a relapse. We are not so 
 rich as we are supposed to be, Mr. Unwin. Indeed, to 
 some people, I daresay we might seem poor, though we 
 have always found our income sufficient," she concluded 
 with a gentle, tremulous dignity which Unwin found 
 touching. 
 
 "We must try to find another tenant," he said. 
 
 "But that is just the difficulty," said Miss Amelia. 
 "We took the last tenants without a very good reference 
 because the house had got a bad name. We hoped they 
 would live it down. The fact is the last three tenants have 
 all died there. Well over seventy, it is true, but not so 
 very long after taking the house. And you know what 
 Wendlebury is. It takes so little to make a talk." 
 
 Unwin laughed indulgently; Wendlebury talk seemed 
 to him such a funny, negligible affair. 
 
 "Oh, it will soon blow over, Miss Amelia. I will do 
 my best to find you a tenant if that is what you want," he 
 responded. 
 
 She got up and put her hand on her parcels, trembling 
 very much. 
 
 "T-that would take time. Weeks, perhaps. I want 
 money now." 
 
 In a moment Unwin 's cheque-book was out of the drawer 
 though his assets at the bank were not so large as his 
 careless: "Why, Miss Amelia, that's nothing!" implied. 
 
 But he was surprised on looking up, suspended pen in 
 air, to see the rigid little figure by the writing-table. 
 
 "No, Mr. Unwin," said Miss Amelia, "I did not come 
 to borrow money of you. I could do that elsewhere. Mrs. 
 Dickson . . . any number of old friends. ... I came to
 
 AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT 167 
 
 ask of you a far more delicate and difficult service. But 
 I will not trouble ..." 
 
 "Miss Amelia," said Unwin, smiling at her in friendly 
 impatient perplexity, ' ' how the dickena am I to know what 
 it is if you won't tell me?" 
 
 Miss Amelia hesitated, saw some reason in that remark 
 and flung forth with desperation : "I want you to pawn 
 my jewelry and my christening mug," then waited for 
 the heavens to fall. 
 
 "But surely the jeweller would allow you something 
 on them?" said Unwin. 
 
 "And have the news flying all over the place that the 
 Miss Pritchards had disposed of their jewelry. No, I 
 would die first," cried Miss Amelia. 
 
 "But he would respect your confidence. Or I might 
 take the things and not say who they belonged to," said 
 Unwin. 
 
 "When every single one was bought from him or his 
 father or his grandfather!" said Miss Amelia. "And the 
 man would tell his wife or somebody. I should not blame 
 him. He really would not be able to help it," she added, 
 seeing, indeed, that such a stupendous piece of news must 
 burst any ordinary bonds of discretion. 
 
 "But the pawnshop man may recognise the things, too," 
 said Unwin. 
 
 "No," said Miss Amelia. "I I obtained news of him 
 I must confess by a sort of subterfuge from Mrs. 
 Chubb. And he is from London. He would not know 
 my hair brooch from Miss Argle's, for instance. Jewelry, 
 no doubt, is just plain jewelry to him." 
 
 ' ' Like Peter Dunn, ' ' said Unwin, still trying to ease the 
 situation. 
 
 "Was Mr. Dunn a pawnbroker?" said poor Miss 
 Amelia, speaking the low cognomen with reluctance. "I 
 suppose a famous one. I never heard of him." She 
 stopped short and one tear trickled down the side of her 
 nose. "You are naturally reluctant to accept euch an
 
 168 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 errand. I ought not to have asked it. I had thought 
 of disguising myself and going after dark, but my cour- 
 age failed me. I can quite well do that still." 
 
 "No, indeed," said Unwin. "If you are bent on it, 
 I will take the things, of course." 
 
 Miss Amelia glanced at the cheque-book. 
 
 "But you must promise to really er pawn them," 
 she insisted. "You must not just pretend to do so and 
 lend me the money. That would hurt me very much in- 
 deed. I should be sorry I had trusted you. You must 
 please promise?" 
 
 ' ' All right, I promise, ' ' said Unwin. 
 
 Miss Amelia heaved a great sigh of relief and burst 
 openly into tears. 
 
 "You're so kind . . . you ought to be happy . . . only 
 the best never are. And I'm sure the hottest climate even 
 with tigers ought not to daunt Pauline " 
 
 "Where shall I bring the money?" said Unwin 
 abruptly. 
 
 "If you could about ten-thirty a.m. outside the fish- 
 monger's?" said Miss Amelia, wiping her eyes. "There 
 is always rather a crowd there on Market Day and our 
 transaction would not cause any remark. People in pass- 
 ing would think it a subscription, no doubt." She went 
 to the door, escorted by Unwin, murmuring incoherently: 
 "I do hope you'll forgive . . . the masterly way in which 
 you dealt with our ghost suggested to my mind ... I 
 shall ..." Then she paused, not being glib at speaking 
 of such matters, "I shall pray for you out in Africa, I 
 shall indeed." 
 
 Unwin was shaking hands with her at this moment 
 and he felt suddenly impelled to lift the slender withered 
 fingers to his lips, saying in a low tone 
 
 "I hope you will, Miss Amelia." 
 
 So they parted, and she went away through the clean 
 grey streets with a little glow at her heart, in spite of 
 Harriet's illness and financial anxiety.
 
 AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT 169 
 
 Lord South-water stepped forth from his mansion, feel- 
 ing he was a good man, as indeed he was, and a just man 
 as indeed he intended to be. He entered the waiting 
 ear which shone as if to match the owner 's shining virtues, 
 and was conveyed, continually patted on the back by his 
 own conscience, to the outskirts of Wendlebury. Here he 
 alighted, commanding that he should be fetched from an 
 appointed place at an appointed time, and walked on 
 his own distinguished legs towards Dr. Carter's house. He 
 knew that a doctor in a little town knows everything even 
 though he never talks about it, and he thought Dr. Carter 
 might be ready to give him some further information 
 about Unwin; but he also vaguely hoped to hear some- 
 thing more as he went about the town, and with that ob- 
 ject visited the fishmonger who occasionally sent fish out 
 to Southwater Park, and the chemist who now and then 
 made up prescriptions. Still, it was impossible for him 
 to ask either of these men what they thought of Unwin, 
 and for him it was equally impossible to lead up to the 
 subject in an indirect way. So he ordered a piece of 
 salmon he did not require with very great dignity, and 
 a box of voice lozenges, and learnt nothing about any- 
 thing but the weather. 
 
 The day was very hot, and his lordship was beginning 
 to be unpleasantly conscious of his boots when Chubb 's 
 cab came slowly down the street. Griselda drooped as 
 she went with an air of ostentatious martyrdom, signify- 
 ing that she intended to die in harness and go to heaven 
 and make Chubb feel uncomfortable for ever afterwards. 
 And Chubb was intimidated by this attitude, as a man 
 decent at heart ever must be, and he got down and gave 
 her a carrot, and besought her, though without words, to 
 put off going to heaven for the present. 
 , It was at this juncture that Lord Southwater came up, 
 conscious of his boots, and decided to drive to Dr. Car- 
 ter's. He also recognised Chubb and the patient creature 
 who had conveyed Pauline to his house, and though this
 
 170 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 he did not even hint to himself, for one could not question 
 a cabman on such a subject he had a last wavering hope 
 of hearing something by accident. 
 
 "You seem fond of your horse," he said, standing 
 pompous on the kerb. "It is getting old, but I daresay 
 there is plenty of work in it yet plenty of work in it 
 yet." 
 
 "Isn't old . . . not to say old," grunted Chubb, 
 mounting the box. "Where to, sir?" 
 
 "Dr. Carter's." The peer cleared his throat. "Ahem! 
 I expect you have plenty of work. So many ladies in 
 Wendlebury. " 
 
 "Fair to middlin'," said Chubb. There would only 
 be twopence extra at the end of it all and he was not 
 going to give more than value for money, lord or no 
 lord. Griselda flapped her tail gently. It was as if her 
 soul answered to Chubb 's soul : ' ' Hear ! Hear ! ' ' 
 
 "But very few young men," pursued Lord Southwater, 
 getting into the cab. ' ' Remarkably few ! Mr. Unwin, for 
 instance, is almost the only one I know." 
 
 "Indeed, sir! Gee-up," said Chubb, outwardly all 
 stolid acquiescence, but with his inner being rioting and 
 whooping along a hot trail. So that was why his lord- 
 ship wandered a-foot on the hard pavements of Wendle- 
 bury! He had come to inquire about Unwin. 
 
 The cab was now passing through a very short street 
 which leads to the market place. A shop stands at one 
 corner, and a public-house at the other. Lord Southwater, 
 averting his eyes from the Pig and Whistle, was gazing 
 full at the pawnship when Unwin emerged with a ticket 
 in his hand. Above his head were the three blatant golden 
 balls. He came out openly, lost to that decent reticence 
 which should, at all events, cloak the questionable pro- 
 ceedings of a gentleman. 
 
 Chubb glanced back over a humped shoulder at Lord 
 Southwater, unable to restrain his curiosity. Then some 
 dim, inner feeling of man to man comradeship caused
 
 AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT 171 
 
 him to jerk out, as the cab swerved round into the market 
 place 
 
 "You can off ens get bargains in them pop-shops. I 
 dessay he was buying himself a second-hand revolver to 
 tek abroad with him to Africa. You have to have one 
 handy fer lions and tigers there." 
 
 ' ' Oh, probably, ' ' said Lord South water, leaning back in 
 the cab. Then he added in a minute or two: "After all, 
 Chubb, I think I will see Dr. Carter on some other occa- 
 sion. Kindly drive me to the railway station where my 
 car is waiting." 
 
 Half an hour later, he was rushing along in the car 
 between the green lawns and bright flower-beds, feeling 
 glad that he had pursued his own investigations inde- 
 pendently of his sister-in-law, and reluctantly obliged to 
 own that he had been right as usual in hia verdict 
 upon Unwin. By the end of dinner this new proof of his 
 own infallibility had almost obliterated hia regret.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 MORE NEWS 
 
 MES. DELAMERE went about in these days flashing 
 her teeth at Windlebury like a tiger in a cage. And, 
 indeed, she did in a sense endure that position, because 
 Lord Southwater had placed a restraint upon her which 
 she dared not break through. After Pauline's departure 
 from Southwater Park an interview took place upon which 
 Mrs. Delamere still looked back with a sinking feeling, as* 
 if she were coming down very suddenly indeed in a power- 
 ful lift. For it had been icily terrible. No explanations 
 on her part of the sisterly feeling which had made her 
 watch over Lord Southwater 's reputation when dealing 
 with a minx even to the extent of placing herself in a 
 hideously painful and compromising position had been 
 of any use whatever. All the impressive majesty gained 
 on countless platforms and rubbed from the pontifical 
 robes of bishops and archbishops had been turned upon 
 her, and she petered as it were out of the study, with 
 the knowledge that she must either keep her mouth shut 
 or forfeit the support of the Southwater family for ever. 
 She dared not even hint at what she was bursting to say, 
 for fear some rumour of it snould come to her brother-in- 
 law 's ears, and she let off some superfluous steam without 
 which relief she must have burst, leaving the fragments, 
 like Jezebel, in Wendlebury market place by collecting 
 ardently for the Nursing Fund, and thus being able to 
 call on everybody, and hear all the news, without jeop- 
 ardising her position as a lady who did not visit in Wen- 
 dlebury. 
 
 172
 
 MORE NEWS 173 
 
 She even bowed to Unwin, though she had by this time 
 become convinced that he must be a thoroughly unwor- 
 thy young man or why did her brother-in-law not em- 
 ploy him after an almost definite promise? And she 
 "moved," as Wendlebury has it, to Pauline, though with 
 a significant stiffness of the muscles at the back of her 
 neck. 
 
 But Pauline was too engrossed in her own feelings to 
 notice the fine gradations of a bow from Mrs. Delamere, 
 and she went for interminable walks to avoid Aunt Dick- 
 son's kind, anxious glances, not realising how her own 
 self-engrossment was affecting the lonely old woman. 
 
 She did not even notice that, as if by some precon- 
 certed signal, the tortoise was touched directly she came 
 in and tea appeared whatever the hour, Aunt Dickson 
 merely saying : "I somehow didn 't want my tea before ' ' ; 
 or Eva remarking, with her careless fling: "Here's your 
 tea, Miss Pauline; Missus fancied hers soon after lunch." 
 
 It was not until long after that Pauline saw how dear 
 and lovely it had all been. The little meal always waiting 
 for her ; the knowledge that she was always wanted. Then 
 the interested response to anything she forced herself 
 to tell about the walk the ready laughter the sense of 
 always being able to bring hope and fun and joy into this 
 house where she had received so much. 
 
 But at the time she only saw the effort it cost her, and 
 felt her mind buzzing like a bee against a closed window 
 at those eleven o'clock festivals, during which the ladies 
 sat round and ate and drank to oblige Aunt Dickson. 
 
 But though she was selfish, after the manner of all 
 young people in love, she was not selfish in her love for 
 Unwin. The Wendlebury change in her had transformed 
 her from a will-o'-the-wisp to something so tenderly hu- 
 man, and near all the motherhood in the world, that if 
 she could have given back to Unwin what her tongue had 
 cost him, and been herself put out of his life, she would 
 have done it unhesitatingly. She might have regretted
 
 174 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 afterwards, because she was human and there is always 
 a reaction from self-sacrifice, but she would have done it. 
 
 On a day in July she came home about half-past five 
 from one of these long walks looking fagged and dark 
 about the eyes. Miss Argle was there, with her black 
 satin bag bulging and the cake plate empty, so Pauline 
 knew that Aunt Dickson had read or become engrossed 
 in a difficult stitch. 
 
 ' ' Oh ! ' ' sa.id this mild-looking descendant of the free- 
 booters of Argle Towers, dashing nervously at the subject 
 she most wished to avoid; "we were just speaking of Mr. 
 Unwin, Pauline. So pleasant to see that he doesn't mind 
 . . . my nephew, so different . . . refused excellent pros- 
 pects in India on account of the excess of animal life. But 
 as I always tell him, England seems to be the only coun- 
 try where the lower animalculce keep their place . . . 
 and we can't all stop in England, can we? No room." 
 
 She paused to draw breath, not for lack of matter, then 
 noting with concern Pauline's pale face and dark-ringed 
 eyes she went on again, giving no time for a reply: "He 
 has the true adventurous spirit, no doubt. One cannot 
 judge such men by ordinary standards. Here to-day. 
 Gone to-morrow. I can understand the spirit . . . the 
 Argles, of course . . . though my nephew confines his af- 
 fections to prize rabbits. It is never wise for a girl to 
 take such men seriously." 
 
 Pauline flushed crimson; so that was the opinion of 
 "Wendlebury! She hated her own fragile appearance, 
 which she could not control, and upon which any inner 
 emotion drew tell-tale outward signs. 
 
 "Does any one take Mr. Unwin seriously?" she said in 
 a light tone. 
 
 "No. Oh, noJ Not that I know of," said Miss Argle. 
 "Eeally, that Miss Lambert was in ray mind. I hear he is 
 paying attentions ... a lady, though poor, but, of course, 
 a curious occupation . . . only I hear she has given it up 
 since the summons. Mr. Unwin went with her to the 1
 
 MORE NEWS 175 
 
 police-court Not that that proves anything, of course, 
 does it?" 
 
 "Summons!" gasped Aunt Dickson. "When did this 
 take place? How is it I have never heard?" 
 
 "Oh, they kept it out of the newspaper somehow . . . 
 the Vicar, I believe ... it all happened the day before 
 yesterday. ' ' 
 
 ' ' And I saw Miss Amelia this morning ! And she never 
 told me ! " said Aunt Dickson, deeply hurt by her friend 's 
 want of generosity. 
 
 "I expect she didn't know. She is so tied with Miss 
 Harriet, you see," said Pauline, forcing herself to speak 
 carelessly. 
 
 Aunt Dickson, for all her jolly kindness to the world, 
 chafed like a dog held back from a succulent bone. 
 
 "Do go on and tell us all about it now, then," she urged. 
 
 Miss Argle glanced from one to the other and took up 
 her familiar black-satin bag. 
 
 "Done no fancy-work after all," she murmured. 
 "Really must be going now. My dear Mrs. Dickson, there 
 is no more to tell. Only Mr. Unwin . . . Oh, what was it 
 he did ? You know . . . something connected with a boat ? 
 Bail! That's it." 
 
 "He was always good-hearted," said Aunt Dickson, 
 trying not to look at Pauline. 
 
 "Oh, yes; any lady he was friendly with, he would, I 
 am sure . . . even a comparative stranger like myself. 
 ... I shall never forget his obliging behaviour about the 
 dress-suit when my nephew ... I wish I could do him a 
 service." 
 
 It was Aunt Dickson who replied, while Pauline thought 
 in silence what she and this little lady between them had 
 helped to do with a man's life. 
 
 As she conducted Miss Argle, murmuring and guarding 
 her well-filled bag, to the door, she .felt bitter against 
 Wendlebury ; but beneath her bitterness she saw once more 
 well enough that if she blamed Wendlebury she must
 
 176 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 blame the world. Out there, in the crowd and the thick 
 of it all, exactly the same thing had happened over and 
 over again as had happened in this little town. She re- 
 membered a great General who had died of a broken heart 
 because of gossip amid the stir and clash of war: Wen- 
 dlebury was only a tiny bit of the world under a magni- 
 fying glass; it was the same everywhere. 
 
 "Kettle's boiling, Miss," called Eva over the stairs, 
 putting her walking gown over her scraggy shoulders. 
 "I've put teapot ready." 
 
 She was down in a few minutes, hat perky and fine 
 over her long, thin face, a pair of pointed shoes on her 
 large feet, bows and laces on her little flat figure, not to 
 be "downed" by her looks any more than by the rest of 
 life. 
 
 "I've laid supper on the big tray," she said, bustling 
 about, "and here's a saucer-cheesecake. You always like 
 a cheesecake, you know. There! I must be off. I've 
 promised to meet a young man at half-past six. I came 
 across him at Eyeford Feast last week. Not that he is 
 exactly young in the sense of being young, but he hasn't 
 got a wife." 
 
 "How do you know?" said Pauline listlessly, not be- 
 cause she had the faintest desire to hear, but because there 
 was about her as those who have followed her fortunes 
 so far may have noticed a fundamental sweetness of 
 courtesy. 
 
 "You're drinking your tea without eating," interjected 
 Eva. ' ' You '11 ruin your stummick ! ' ' Then she answered 
 Pauline's question. "I knew he was not a married man 
 because I asked him. Once bit+en, twice shy. Last but 
 two I walked out with turned out to be a married man 
 with seven. Some folks would ha' given it up after that 
 . . . but not me. I just make sure. So I says to this man, 
 'Are you married?' I says. And he says, sharp-like, 
 'What are you asking me that for?' And I says: 'I mean
 
 MORE NEWS 177 
 
 to start as I mean to go on: all open and above board.' 
 So he told me he was single. But you never know." 
 
 "You are comfortable enough here. Why bother?" 
 said Pauline. 
 
 "Oh, you must have a bit o' sport somehow," said Eva, 
 taking up a gay sunshade which was purely decorative 
 at that hour. "As my poor mother used to say, 'If you 
 can't have treacle-pot don't be too proud to lick the 
 spoon.' So long, Miss Pauline!" 
 
 But Miss Pauline found herself as yet unable to accept 
 the grand philosophy of "Us Martins," and her whole 
 aching soul demanded the treacle-pot. 
 
 After a while she went back to Aunt Dickson, but the 
 subject of Unwin and the fortune-teller was not men- 
 tioned, though the air of the room hummed almost audi- 
 bly with the unspoken consciousness of it. Aunt Dickson 's 
 true kindness of heart imposed on her this restraint for 
 fear of hurting Pauline she had been acutely aware of 
 that deep flush of pain during Miss Argle's story and 
 she exerted herself to talk comfortably of little things 
 because silence seemed to hint indiscreetly at the for- 
 bidden topic. 
 
 But this state of affairs could not endure throughout 
 a whole July evening, and Pauline's troublesome nerves 
 at last impelled her to end it with a casual 
 
 "Just like Mr. Unwin to go to the rescue of the dis- 
 tressed." 
 
 "Yes. What is this Miss Lambert like?" 
 
 Pauline hesitated. 
 
 "Oh, not young. Some people might think her good- 
 looking." A pause, and an effort. "There is something 
 about her. I could see that." 
 
 "Um. Well, Unwin will soon have left here, and I 
 dare say it may be years before we hear any more about 
 him. A nice fellow, but not to be relied on." 
 < So having, as it were, shuffled the cards and mixed
 
 178 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 the knave in with the rest of the pack, she tacitly in- 
 vited Pauline to start afresh. 
 
 But a subject, in Wendlebury, is not thus easily dis- 
 missed, and when Eva entered the room, still attired in 
 the gay gown, her first words opened it out afresh. She 
 made a feint of removing the bread-and-milk bowl, then 
 put it down again on the table and gave herself up 
 openly to the thrilling situation. 
 
 "I went to see Mrs. Chubb, 'm. She's been charing 
 at Miss Walker's to-day where that fortune-teller's stop- 
 ping. They've had her up for doing it. Miss Walker, 
 the dressmaker, was in an awful way awful. They say 
 Mr. Unwin had to go down on his hands and knees to her 
 before she'd let that Miss Lambert stop. She said it 
 would ruin her connection. But she gave in in the end." 
 
 There followed a silence, which Eva took for the si- 
 lence of stupefied astonishment. She regarded it as her 
 due and continued with increased animation 
 
 "Mr. Unwin seems regularly taken in with that Miss 
 Lambert. And she's no beauty, not to my way o' think- 
 ing, and won't ever see thirty again. You'd wonder what 
 got him, all the nice young ladies there is in the world," 
 she concluded with an indignant glance in Pauline's di- 
 rection. 
 
 . "Young men will be young men," murmured Aunt 
 Dickson vaguely, forced into some kind of reply. 
 
 "So they say," retorted Eva. "But when a girl gets 
 into trouble they never say young women will be young 
 women ! ' ' 
 
 "Mr. Unwin has nothing to be ashamed of in this mat- 
 ter," said Pauline quickly. "You may be quite sure of 
 that, Eva." 
 
 "Well, Miss," said Eva, "whether he has, or whether 
 he hasn't, he's made a deal of talk. That's his worst 
 failing, I dessay; he never seems to turn round and think 
 whether he's making talk or whether he isn't. If us 
 Martins had done like that we should never be where we
 
 MORE NEWS 179 
 
 are to-day. As my poor mother used to say, 'You want 
 to be a dirty tramp like old Jenkins that can't be made 
 out worse than he is, or a rich man like Squire that'll go 
 on bein' rich whether you talk or not, afore you can do 
 things without thinking what folks '11 say about you.' ' 
 She paused. "Not that I blame him about Miss Lambert, 
 poor feller. There's Chubb, too. Whatever do you 
 think? He said if she was turned out of her lodgings 
 they'd take her in, and Mrs. Chubb said nothing for 
 fear of hardening him on ... but to herself she says, 
 'On'y over my dead body.' For it was one thing him 
 been so taken up with his old mare, but when he began 
 with Miss Lambert . . . And all he says is that she's the 
 perfectest lady he ever met with in all his cab-driving, 
 and he can't say no other. But, of course, that isn't it." 
 
 "Eva, I really can't " began Aunt Dickson. 
 
 Eva pursed up her mouth and stared at Aunt Dickson 
 and Pauline with round eyes of mystery. 
 
 "I don't mean what you mean. I don't think she goes 
 on with Chubb nobody in their senses could. But she 
 doesn't only a fortune-tell; she nypnotises. I read a 
 tale about one in the Wendlebury Herald. You can't do 
 naught agen 'em, once you let 'em get near-hand you. 
 And it stan's to reason that Mr. Unwin must ha' got 
 nypnotised," she concluded indignantly, "or else he 
 wouldn't give a nice young lady like Miss Pauline the go- 
 by for " 
 
 "Mrs. Chubb talks a lot of nonsense," interposed Aunt 
 Dickson. "I wonder you have not too much sense to 
 listen to her, Eva." 
 
 "Well, I'm sorry for Mrs. Chubb," flashed out Eva, 
 defending her sex against the adventuress, as women ever 
 will. "She says she's all of a work inside from morning 
 to night and her food mud as well go down sink for all 
 the good it does her! I wish Miss Lambert had never 
 come near-hand Wendlebury!" 
 
 Pauline secretly echoed the sentiment, but Aunt Dick-
 
 180 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 son was not so sure; she felt inclined to think that the 
 fortune-teller had done good service to Pauline in show- 
 ing plainly that Unwin was not a man to be depended 
 on or regretted. 
 
 Unwin himself had no idea, of course, that his private 
 affairs were heing thus openly discussed, and the affair 
 of Miss Lambert had by no means been so important 
 as Miss Argle and Eva imagined. True, a policeman had 
 called at Delia's lodgings, scaring the little dressmaker 
 into hysterics, but there had been no question of bail, 
 and a fine and a promise had satisfied the authorities. 
 As a matter of fact Unwin 's mind was filled with other 
 matters, and he was very busy putting his affairs in 
 order before going abroad. Never having troubled him- 
 self about the tongues of Wendlebury, he was scarcely 
 likely to begin now. So he ceased to search for reasons 
 why the appointment had been withheld, taking the view 
 that such speculating was weak and futile, and getting 
 ready to do his best in the job which had turned up. 
 
 It could not be said that he was happy at any time 
 during this period, and when he gave himself time to 
 think he was acutely miserable with the baulked agony 
 of a man in the first flush of youth and strength who 
 has come to regard a girl as his future wife. The loss 
 of her, and of the lovely beckoning prospect which Lord 
 Southwater had held out to him, did not embitter him, 
 because the seeds of bitterness lie within and his nature 
 did not contain them. But he knew there was only one 
 such post in the world, and that he had nearly got it, 
 and had lost it. That gave a sense of frustration in his 
 case, somewhat to be compared with the irritating nervous 
 effect of frustrated love, and there can be no doubt that 
 this state of mind directly led to his love-troubles. If he 
 had been as usual he would have been happily engaged 
 to Pauline by this time, and not employed in making 
 imaginary obstacles out of his own foolish pride. 
 
 But there seem no limits to the blindness of love, as
 
 MORE NEWS 181 
 
 Mrs. Chubb was demonstrating in her own kitchen, open- 
 ing and shutting her mouth like a frenzied fish, and yet 
 not desperate enough to "let Chubb have it," and clear 
 the matter up once and for all, lest he should remove his 
 affections from her. He was, as she deeply felt in that 
 bursting heart behind the decent alpaca, so dreadfully 
 attractive to the weaker sex. It would appear incredible 
 if a jealous, good woman's imagination were not capable 
 of things a sensational Sunday paper would boggle at 
 to recount what Mrs. Chubb thought when Mr. Chubb took 
 Delia out for a drive in his cab. And now he was saying, 
 just as if it were a matter of course 
 
 "Miss Lambert wants to see our procession on Feast 
 Day. I've telled her to stand at Market Corner. She'll 
 get a fine view there." 
 
 A fine view of what? Mrs. Chubb 's interior arrange- 
 ments, of which Eva had made mention, became so dis- 
 turbed that they seemed to be waltzing together, but she 
 only remarked after opening and shutting her mouth 
 twice: "How many white Bisons is going to ride this 
 year?" 
 
 "Me and four others. The rest '11 go on foot," replied 
 Chubb, with the careless dignity befitting a man whose 
 position in the Ancient and Worshipful Order of White 
 Bisons is too firmly established to need comment. "Mind 
 you iron my gown well this time." 
 
 Seething, Mrs. Chubb took from a drawer in the dresser 
 the white nightgown-like garment in which Chubb on 
 these occasions bestrode Griselda. 
 
 "You wouldn't," she said, in a deceptively mild voice, 
 "like Miss Lambert to see you with a crease in it, of 
 course." 
 
 "No, I shouldn't," said Chubb. Then he lighted his 
 pipe. "Some o' the chaps looks rare an' silly dressed up 
 like that!" 
 
 "Ay," said Mrs. Chubb, but she refrained from say- 
 ing how glorious Chubb 's appearance always was on these
 
 182 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 annual festivals, and though he did not actually notice 
 this, he missed something in a vague sort of way to 
 which he was accustomed. 
 
 1 ' Get me my other pipe, ' ' he said testily. ' ' This doesn 't 
 seem to draw right somehow."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE WHITE BISONS 
 
 IT is a well-known fact that if a person contracts some 
 unusual illness or suffers some peculiar accident of 
 which he has never heard before, there seems immediately 
 to spring out of the very ground any number of similar 
 cases. Mrs. Jones, whom the sufferer has long known, 
 possesses a hidden cousin who suffers from precisely the 
 same affliction, while a man at the butcher's shop has en- 
 dured it for years past himself. And the same rule ap- 
 plies to affairs of the emotion and intellect, so it is no 
 wonder that Pauline began to find, all about her, those 
 whose lives had been injured by gossip. 
 
 For instance, on this very morning of blue sky and 
 slanting showers with a promise of sunshine a perfect 
 Weiidlebury day she saw from the window a dirty little 
 clergyman who went past with shuffling feet and bent 
 shoulders. His shiftless incongruity with the bright, 
 bustling alertness of Wendlebury on the great occasion 
 of the White Bisons annual celebration, led Pauline to 
 remark carelessly 
 
 "There's Mr. Robinson again! I don't think he ought 
 to wear clerical clothes at all if he goes about in that 
 state. Why is he not working?" 
 
 "Oh, he got into some trouble with his parishioners. 
 There was a lot of talk and he had to retire," said Aunt 
 Dickson, already seated in the window in her best black 
 satin awaiting chance callers from the country. 
 
 "But did he do anything wrong?" said Pauline. "I 
 mean, was anything actually proved?" 
 
 183
 
 184 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "No; but there is no smoke without fire," said Aunt 
 Dickson. ' ' However, ' ' she added, willing to give, as usual, 
 the benefit of the doubt, "I dare say it was only because 
 he kept white mice and didn't eat meat. People would 
 naturally talk and when people once begin to talk ..." 
 
 Pauline made no reply, but remained at the window 
 looking after the shuffling figure. She saw now, not just 
 a dirty little retired parson, but a man with the main- 
 spring of life broken by the tongues of his fellow-men, 
 and her heart was filled with an angry pity. 
 
 "Can't we ask him in?" she said. 
 
 "I have done," said Aunt Dickson, "but he won't come. 
 He likes to be left alone with his pipe. I remember him 
 quite a good-looking young man with a high colour when 
 Wendlebury was his first curacy." 
 
 A sudden vision of the old clergyman as he once was 
 rose before Pauline's mind . . . the hopes and aspira- 
 tions . . . the little red town about the tall spire of the 
 church where he first ministered . . . the glamour of life 
 just opening out . . . and it had ended in this. 
 
 ' ' Oh, if people were only born dumb ! ' ' she said. 
 
 "No, no," said Aunt Dickson comfortably. "Speech is 
 like everything else that is any use you can do good or 
 harm with it. Look at cotton-wool ... so soft and com- 
 forting . . . and yet you can use it to blow up and kill 
 people." 
 
 "But you do at least know when you're using it to 
 blow up with!' 1 retorted Pauline; and Aunt Dickson, un- 
 able to pursue the argument, said with perfect equanim- 
 ity- 
 
 " Things are like that. You have to take things as 
 they are." 
 
 But it is age alone or supine youth which can accept 
 that view, and Pauline still wanted to make things dif- 
 ferent. 
 
 On this occasion, however, the time for introspection 
 was over and the first of a long line of visitors appeared
 
 THE WHITE BISONS 185 
 
 on the pavement outside. She was that old servant of 
 Aunt Dickson's to whom Pauline had carried gifts on her 
 way to Lord South water 's, and later, during the whole 
 morning, followed other old servants, with children and 
 mothers and sisters of old servants, down to remote col- 
 lateral branches. Most of them brought country offer- 
 ings, and the little straight-fronted house began to smell 
 most sweetly of old-fashioned roses and southernwood and 
 honey, and the delicious aroma from Eva's kitchen caused 
 by constant relays of fresh tea and cakes mingled with 
 it all, until the air about Aunt Dickson was fragrant of 
 nothing else in the world but kindness. She sat in her 
 chair by the window, ringing the tortoise bell, and order- 
 ing fresh delicacies from the confectioner's through the 
 telephone, her little dark eyes shining in her big red face, 
 so at the very buzzing heart and centre of Wendlebury 
 Feast that Pauline had to reflect some of the jollity back 
 again, and be warmed by it, like a person standing in the 
 sunshine. 
 
 Then, after a cold luncheon, came a detachment of "us 
 Martins" who truth to tell rather looked down on "our 
 Eva" because she was in service, they having risen in the 
 world to be lady clerks and post-office assistants and such- 
 like, while "our Ben" was an engineer at Leeds. But 
 Eva ushered them in with such joy, and was so innocently 
 proud of their ugly, board-school English from which all 
 her own vim and character had been banished, and said 
 so casually: "There I go our Emm laughs at my broad 
 talk," just to draw attention to the precise correctness 
 with which our Emm spoke, that it would have been a 
 poor heart that did not rejoice with her. 
 
 Pauline unconsciously began to take heart and think 
 that something pleasant might after all happen in a world 
 so full of fun and kindness. She went out for half an 
 hour after lunch to see the procession of the White Bisons 
 with that fountain of hope welling up in her for no real 
 reason at all which is the compensation of temperaments
 
 186 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 given equally to unreasoning despair; and she laughed 
 to see Chubb majestic on Griselda, though only the night 
 before she had believed she would never laugh any more. 
 
 It could not be imagined that Griselda felt comfortable, 
 because she was obviously not up to Chubb 's weight, but 
 she staggered along with the meek bombast of a very fat, 
 charitable lady in a very overheated room who is hearing 
 a laudatory speech about herself. 
 
 Griselda shared with such an one the profound con- 
 viction that she had got on in the world because she was 
 good: the droop of her neck, the very hang of her tail 
 proved that beyond dispute. 
 
 But on reaching the corner Chubb relaxed somewhat 
 of his immovable dignity and nodded to a friend in the 
 crowd. Pauline could not see who it was and was turn- 
 ing away, when she felt a clutch on her arm, a whisper 
 stirring the hair over her right ear. 
 
 "Did you see that!" 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Chubb! I didn't recognise you," said 
 Pauline. 
 
 "No wonder. Everything's upside down. Oh! what 
 a Feast Day! Oh! the hussy, her !" 
 
 "But what is the matter, Mrs. Chubb?" said Pauline, 
 beginning to be concerned. "Do tell me!" 
 
 Mrs. Chubb swallowed several times, opened and shut 
 her mouth and to some degree recovered herself. 
 
 "I dessay it's the 'eat, Miss," she said; "I think I'll 
 be going home." 
 
 "But Chubb will be coming back this way in a few 
 minutes if the mare doesn't sit down first," said Pauline. 
 
 "I hope she will," said Mrs. Chubb unexpectedly. 
 
 "What!" said Pauline, scarcely believing her ears. 
 
 "I mean it," said Mrs. Chubb, nodding. And she 
 added darkly: "If the mare sits down with him and I 
 stand up to him, perhaps he'll begin to see." Then she 
 vanished among the crowd and her mystified hearer went 
 home.
 
 THE WHITE BISONS 187 
 
 Later in the afternoon, Miss Walker came to sit with 
 Aunt Dickson, while Pauline accompanied Mary Carter 
 to the entertainment at the Assembly Rooms which al- 
 ways closed Wendlehury Feast. It had been instituted 
 many years earlier by a committee of county ladies with 
 the praiseworthy object of keeping the feasters away from 
 less innocent amusements, but those feasters still roystered 
 in public-houses and squealed in roundabouts, and be- 
 came green in swing-boats, while the decorous part of the 
 community who would in any case be decorous enjoyed 
 an excellent performance for sixpence a head. 
 
 On this occasion a female Bracegirdle of the highest 
 county reputation was to show Wendlebury how much 
 leg it was possible to show while still remaining immacu- 
 lately virtuous, in a dance composed by herself called 
 "Love in the Forest." 
 
 Delia Lambert also felt the stir of life and gaiety in the 
 atmosphere and became restless in her little house in a 
 back street. So she threw on a cloak and slipped along 
 to the concert hall thinking she would never be noticed 
 which shows how little even yet she understood Wendle- 
 bury. But at any rate she remained unseen for a time 
 because the room was quite dark and the immaculate 
 Bracegirdle was already pawing the air and shaking a 
 hind leg to intimate joy in the sunrise see programmes 
 one penny each. This was all very well at first. A sort 
 of amazement at being permitted to see so much of a 
 Bracegirdle kept the audience enthralled and quiet. But 
 when, without moving far from the same spot, the dancer 
 went through fifteen scenes of a very similar nature, only 
 shaking more leg and more arm, or frowning instead of 
 showing her teeth, the few genuine feasters at the back 
 began to recover from their amazement and to grow res- 
 tive. And when, pursuing the limelight which declined 
 to pursue her, the lady dropped on the floor, where she 
 appeared to be contorted with agony, an inebriated voice
 
 188 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 at the back called out: "She's had sour braimberries i' 
 wood! Hee! Hee! There's nought gives you it worse 
 than sour braimberries!" 
 
 "Hush!" hissed the front benches. 
 
 "It's dancing. The lady's dancing, ye fool!" urged a 
 neighbour. 
 
 "Dancing!" said the man, without any animosity, but 
 loud enough to be heard by all. "Ca' that dancing! I 
 call it sillying about in 'er shift!" 
 
 Then somebody threw a bouquet, and the curtain went 
 down and the lights went up, while the Rural Dean, sit- 
 ting in front of Pauline, continued to applaud robustly 
 and openly, as though to show every one that he, at any 
 rate, saw those solid Bracegirdle limbs fully draped with 
 the mantle of an hereditary chastity. He looked round 
 at the audience as he clapped his well-kept hands, turn- 
 ing his blue eyes and high-coloured face here and there 
 and brandishing, as it were, in his own person, the pre- 
 cept that to the pure all things are pure. Mrs. Rural 
 Dean leaned back and did her duty languidly by Dr. and 
 Mrs. Carter, giving Mary Carter the opportunity to mur- 
 mur in Pauline's ear 
 
 ' ' Well, of all things ! I don 't know how she ever could. 
 I do hope she'll catch cold in her legs. Why does she 
 do it? But I suppose she wanted people to see that the 
 rest of her was not quite so plain as her face." 
 
 "Oh, some people like it. Men do ... anything with 
 legs," said Pauline vaguely, catching sight of Delia Lam- 
 bert a few yards away. 
 
 "But why should they?" urged Mary, pursuing her 
 problem. 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know. There are lots of things ..." 
 
 " Oh ! " interrupted Mary, also discerning Delia. ' ' That 
 woman! She's just as bad in another way. How dare 
 she come here amongst us as bold as brass after being 
 taken up by a policeman and all the talk!" She broke off 
 abruptly. "Here's Unwin!"
 
 THE WHITE BISONS 189 
 
 Pauline turned and saw him come through the side-door 
 with his gay, alert air, which was really a physical attri- 
 bute, his quick, wide-open eyes glancing here and there in 
 search of some one. At last they fell on Pauline ; but with 
 a sudden, overwhelming impulse of shyness she turned 
 away. The next second she turned round ready to bow, 
 but it was too late, and he was already making his way 
 to Delia between the rather sparsely filled benches at the 
 side of the room. 
 
 The whole thing Pauline's instinctive retreat, Unwin's 
 momentary pause between the two girls, his choice of 
 Delia was over like a flash; and yet it belonged to the 
 essential part of earthly love which must be always the 
 same. Pauline had been as natural as a girl flying before 
 her lover in the dawn of the world, and she had looked 
 away because she was seized in the recesses of her being 
 with a sudden, passionate worship for Unwin's virile 
 young body. This feeling was so new to her physical 
 love fused with her girl's love-of-the-spirit which had 
 been long waiting that she now sat trembling with the 
 surprise of it. 
 
 Then she heard through the rushing sound in her ears 
 the unforgetable sound of the sea of love rushing on 
 to the shores of life the indignant voice of Mary Carter. 
 
 "Well! I didn't think it of Unwin! He has gone and 
 sat down by that woman." 
 
 "I daresay he is sorry for her. He is so good-natured," 
 said Pauline, trying to speak in her ordinary tone. 
 
 Mary gave a contemptuous snort. 
 
 ' ' Good-natured ! He went to sit next her because he 
 wanted to. I know enough about men for that. Perhaps 
 she is interesting. She ought to be. She has had plenty 
 of time to learn things," said Mary, hot with indignation 
 on Pauline's account. "But I don't see how any one 
 can admire her appearance. High cheek-bones, flat nose, 
 dozens of little lines round her eyes, a long, loose lanky 
 figure. I call her downright ugly."
 
 190 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Mrs. Chubb, enjoying her sixpenny worth at the back 
 of the hall, thought the same thing, and she remarked 
 to Eva, who sat near : ' ' Now you see ! If that isn 't nyp- 
 notising, what is? Unwin come in and looked round, 
 hesitating-like, and then went for her as straight as a die. 
 Just the same as folks did when that conjuring fellow 
 was here. If Unwin wasn't nypnotised, what was he? 
 Eh?" 
 
 "That must be it," assented Eva regretfully, eyeing 
 with sympathy Pauline's back hair. "Ay; love's a rum 
 thing, Mrs. Chubb." 
 
 "You're right there," sighed Mrs. Chubb. Then she 
 added, violently for her: "Nobody could see aught in 
 that great, gawky lass if they wasn't nypnotised. That 
 shows ! You can 't blame the men ! ' ' 
 
 "I do," said Eva, ever prone to support her own sex. 
 "Men shouldn't go near enough to get hypnotised. They 
 should keep out o' the way of such-like women. There's 
 plenty of others knocking about. I knew a housemaid 
 where I lived once a great gawk with ginger hair and 
 yet all the fellers was after her. She got my young man 
 or else I might have been in a home of my own now. 
 And yet she didn't want to keep him." 
 
 "What's happened to your last?" asked Mrs. Chubb, 
 feigning interest but with a vindictive eye on Delia all 
 the time. "He seemed a decent sort of chap but for his 
 bow legs." 
 
 ' ' Oh, I parted from him in June, a bit before the longest 
 day," responded Eva cheerfully. "It was in the course 
 of nature, as you may say, for he started walking out 
 with me in January when it was dark and he couldn't 
 see me very fair you know what Wendlebury street- 
 lamps is and as it got lighter, he got cooler. So at last, 
 when he'd kept me waiting at street corner twice and 
 never turned up I thought it was time to know where I 
 was. I hate beating about the bush. So I says: 'Are 
 we walking out or are we not?' Plain out. Just like
 
 THE WHITE BISONS 191 
 
 that. And he says: 'Since you put it to me, Miss Mar- 
 tin' he talked very fine, you know; a real, good-educated 
 feller, I will own 'since you put it to me, Miss Martin,' 
 he says, 'we are not!' ' Eva paused to take breath and 
 give half an ear to a glee. "That was a bit of a blow, 
 wasn't it?" 
 
 "And what did you say?" asked Mrs. Chubb mechani- 
 cally, her gaze still fixed on Delia. 
 
 "I said 'What for?' But I knew all the time without 
 telling. I wore a tasty hat of Miss Pauline's and a veil 
 and a fur tie when I first got on with him, and I 'm chirpy 
 enough, and he thought me younger and better-looking 
 than what I am. But them long, light evenings end o' 
 May and June!" She sighed. "However, what is to be, 
 will be. I got to know a policeman last night out." She 
 paused again, then added with a vicarious triumph which 
 showed her sound and sweet to the core : ' ' Our Emm 's 
 engaged to a clerk. He wears a white shirt and striped 
 socks every day. She got more schooling than I did, and 
 she'll keep his position up all right." 
 
 But Mrs. Chubb was gazing at the programme: "The 
 next is the last," she remarked. "Should we slip out 
 after this? I hate being scrooged and Chubb will be 
 wanting his supper." 
 
 "As you like," said Eva, "though I don't mind a bit 
 of a crush myself; makes you feel you are out, if you 
 know what I mean." 
 
 Still, as Mrs. Chubb persisted, they slipped out through 
 the side door. Delia, who also disliked being crushed, 
 followed with Unwin. 
 
 "Good-evening, Mrs. Chubb," she said in passing. 
 
 "Where's Chubb?" said Unwin pleasantly. "You 
 ought to have brought him." 
 
 "Hard-working man . . . something better to do ... 
 trapesing about to concerts," muttered Mrs. Chubb, with 
 a baleful eye on Delia.
 
 192 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "Oh! he would have enjoyed it. Sorry he didn't come," 
 said Delia lightly. 
 
 So she and Unwin went on together through the little 
 crowd round the door, and as they paused a moment in 
 the street beyond they could hear an old roundabout 
 wheezing out a tune which dated from the Boer War 
 "Good-bye, Dolly Grey" the tune to which this genera- 
 tion first re-sung the eternal ballad of fighting men going 
 forth to war and the girls they leave behind them. Lights 
 from stalls and booths made a blaze of light beyond the 
 market place, there was a mingled sound of footsteps, 
 voices and laughter, the little town held carnival for all 
 the country-side in this flowery space between haytime and 
 harvest. 
 
 Delia drew a long breath, enjoying the cool night. The 
 nervous restlessness which had driven her to the concert 
 gave keenness to her senses now, and made her respond 
 to the merriment in the air. A lad and a girl went rol- 
 licking by, full of young life and joy in the passing hour. 
 
 "Let us go too," she said, seizing Unwin 's arm impetu- 
 ously. "Come on! Let's follow the fun!" 
 
 Unwin, though so in love with Pauline, responded to 
 the challenge of that hand on his arm and that inspiriting 
 voice. 
 
 Follow the fun! It was what Delia had always done, 
 with what tragedy in between. 
 
 As Unwin raced along the grey streets of Wendlebury 
 with her now, he pressed the eager, nervous hand to his 
 side and felt that here was a fine companion. You could 
 imagine her wounded, beaten, and yet stumbling up again 
 to follow the fun. "What a glorious companion for a wan- 
 derer! His thoughts broke short on that and paused a 
 second, startled. Where had he got to? Then his reason 
 maintained doggedly that she would be a good comrade 
 for a wanderer in life. 
 
 He looked into her face, which was nearly on a level 
 with his own, and saw her looking at him with a smile.
 
 THE WHITE BISONS 193 
 
 "Want to go back?" 
 
 He pressed her hand closer. 
 
 "No . . . want to go on!'* 
 
 "Sure?" 
 
 "Quite sure, Delia." 
 
 She pulled her hand away, still smiling. 
 
 "I didn't mean that, you know. No child-stealing done 
 here!" 
 
 He flushed angrily for a moment, being still young 
 enough to feel annoyed, then he began to laugh. 
 
 "Well! that's what you'd call applying the break with 
 a jerk," he said; then he added in another tone, "You're 
 a good sort, Delia. ' ' 
 
 "Oh!" she began, then changed her mind and said 
 at random: "Look at that fat couple going through the 1 
 gate. However did they achieve that? I suppose they let 
 their minds fatten first and then it spread outwards or 
 do you think it acts the other way on?" 
 
 "Depends ..." said Unwin vaguely, listening not to 
 her but to the long-forgotten phrase of an old nurse which 
 was for some reason echoing and re-echoing heavily 
 through the long corridors of memories. "If you can't 
 have what you want, Master Maurice, you must make the 
 best of what you've got. ..." He saw himself again 
 the turbulent urchin desiring always the unique and yet 
 did not know why the words should come back so vividly 
 just now. Then the crowd pressed round them and Delia 
 allowed him to take her arm again, and they were thrown 
 up, like weeds at the edge of surf, close by the round- 
 about. 
 
 The feast was nearly over for the year and the men 
 and girls flung themselves for a last turn, laughing and 
 shouting, upon the, old-fashioned wooden horses which 
 went round rocking clumsily to the tune of Dolly Grey. 
 The air was full of love-making and laughter, rosy faces 
 and bright eyes formed a very procession of youth between 
 the naphtha glare from a sweet-stall near and the gas- jets
 
 194 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 of the roundabout ; long streamers of pink and white paper 
 flew out like garlands. Unwin and Delia were carried 
 away by this simple pageant, hung breathlessly laughing 
 on the edge of it, called to each other in loud, happy 
 voices like all the rest, taking it for granted that they, 
 too, must join in. 
 
 "Me for that brown horse with the rolling eye!" cried 
 Unwin. 
 
 "No! No! There's that grey one just like Griselda. 
 I must know what Chubb felt like this morning when he 
 bestrode Griselda," said Delia. 
 
 "Now! Now!" shouted Unwin, making a dash for a 
 pair of vacant steeds. 
 
 "Nearly missed them," panted Delia, seated victo- 
 riously amid a crowd of untiring equestrians. 
 
 Then the music brayed, the thing began to whirl 
 shouts, shrieks, laughter, paper streamers flying out 
 they were no longer spectators, but a part of all this 
 splendid, whirling, shouting procession of youth. 
 
 One round two rounds three rounds with the show- 
 man yelling that this was the last, and a final stop which 
 left a clear space for midnight to chime out over Wendle- 
 bury town. 
 
 As Unwin and Delia walked away from the round- 
 about he took ner arm now as a matter of course, and 
 they jostled along with the other home-going couples, 
 calling, laughing to each other, Unwin as little self-con- 
 scious as the farrier's lad in front of him. But Delia's 
 introspective spirit soon returned to its place, watching. 
 Again she was the one to draw away. 
 
 "Well, so long as we can get that out of a jolting coun- 
 try roundabout we are not really to be pitied," she said, 
 "whatever happens to us. We get more than our share." 
 
 "Why did you do that?" said Unwin sharply, not heed- 
 ing her remark. 
 
 "Do what?"
 
 THE WHITE BISONS 195 
 
 "Take your arm away." 
 
 Delia laughed. 
 
 "Why, because we're not Siamese twins. We can't 
 go about always linked together." 
 
 There was a silence. Unwin felt as if somebody some- 
 where it was certainly not the woman by his side 
 waited tensely upon his reply. 
 
 "No," he said at last; "I suppose not." 
 
 They walked on again, talking but with a difference, 
 encountering everywhere other couples and groups of re- 
 turning revellers. As they knocked at the door, Delia 
 suddenly remembered Miss Walker. 
 
 "Goodness! I forgot all about her. She will have 
 been sitting up all this time, poor old thing!" 
 
 And the little dressmaker unlocked the door, saying 
 with severity 
 
 "S'ange time o' night. Not uthed to thuch hours, 
 Mith Lambert." 
 
 For one moment Unwin thought that Miss Walker, 
 too, had been making a night of it. Then he remembered 
 the false teeth. 
 
 "Good evening," he said. 
 
 "You here!" said Miss Walker. "S'cuse me!" She 
 whisked round and turned after a pause with her teeth in 
 place. "A lady living alone has to be particular. I am 
 not used to such doings." 
 
 "It was a concert. Surely music is all right," said 
 Unwin. 
 
 "Not music accompanied by wooden horses and stream- 
 ers of white and pink paper," said Miss Walker. "No, 
 Mr. Unwin, you know Wendlebury better than Miss Lam- 
 bert does, and you'd no right to lead her astray." 
 "I won't do it again," said Unwin humbly. 
 
 Miss Walker shook her head, mollified but still disap- 
 proving. 
 
 "Well, it isn't for myself, you know. I don't believe 
 any harm of either of you. But the pity is that you
 
 196 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 should want to do such queer things. Nobody could 
 imagine the Vicar or Mrs. Delamere wanting to ride 
 on a roundabout. And if they don't ..." 
 
 She left it at that and closed the door upon Unwin.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE DAY AFTER 
 
 ALIGHT drizzle fell next morning and stray pieces of 
 paper blew forlornly about the streets. The milk-lad 
 "cheeked" the news-girl, not jocosely as usual but with a 
 sub-acid irony, and the news-girl asked Eva "if she was 
 going to be kep' waiting all morning because other folks 
 was sleeping off feast." Eva, irritated by the fact that 
 it was washing-day and Mrs. Chubb behind time, gave 
 the news-girl what is called "a dressing-down" and re- 
 tired to quarrel with the fire-irons, so that Aunt Dickson 
 and Pauline breakfasted to a salvo recognised by the 
 whole household as the prelude to a storm. It was alto* 
 gether a sort of temperamental house that Jack built, with 
 the jollity left out, that morning in "Wendlebury. 
 
 The White Bisons, suffering no doubt a reaction from 
 the high splendour of yesterday, felt in tune with the 
 rest of the town: while Chubb, as senior and prominent 
 Bison, was naturally a Bison with a very sore head. Mrs. 
 Chubb applied the grease of flattery with little effect, and 
 Griselda munched, meekly morose, in her stable. She re- 
 flected that she was not meant to draw a cab but to be 
 always walking with dignity through "Wendlebury market 
 place, bearing Chubb in a white nightgown. 
 
 Said Mrs. Chubb^ within the house 
 
 "Drat those apron strings! I'm late for Mrs. Dick- 
 son's." 
 
 "What care I for Mrs. Dickson?" retorted Chubb. 
 "Where's my pipe. You gone and moved my pipe. If 
 
 197
 
 198 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 on'y a man could have a place to his-self " He 
 
 paused and added bitterly: "But, no. If women was 
 outer the way men would be too happy. That's why it 
 is. Providence didn't want us to be as happy as all that 
 upo' this earth, or else we shouldn't be ready to leave it." 
 
 "I'm sure you'd be very uncomfortable without me, 
 Chubb," said Mrs. Chubb. "Who'd mend your socks? 
 
 Who'd " she broke off. "There's your pipe sticking 
 
 out of your breast-pocket all the time." 
 
 "I never put it there. I never did put it there i' my 
 life," said Chubb, taking it out and frowning at it. 
 
 "Who did then? Sperrits?" said Mrs. Chubb: then 
 she turned a sallow red and giggled with nervous defiance. 
 "P'raps your pipe's been nypnotised too!" 
 
 Chubb glared at her over the lighted match. 
 
 "Watcher mean?" 
 
 Mrs. Chubb that strange mixture of garrulousness and 
 secretiveness opened and shut her mouth twice and at 
 last said feebly, "Oh, nothing!" 
 
 The outer door closed upon her, and she had trailed 
 some ten 1 steps down the street when the flood-gates of 
 speech were so pressed upon by an insistent thought that 
 she was obliged to return, put her head through the door, 
 and shrill forth huskily: "If I was to die you'd be mar- 
 ried again in a year." 
 
 Chubb looked at her with the annoyance usually in- 
 spired by people who go away and come back. 
 
 ' ' I dessay I should, ' ' he replied shortly. ' ' You wouldn 't 
 want me to cook me own dinner, would you?" 
 
 "But you'd be sorry? You'd put me a good headstone 
 up?" pursued Mrs. Chubb. And something in her anx- 
 ious gaze some hint of the desperate, ridiculous devo- 
 tion in her heart did penetrate through many things to 
 the man at the core of Chubb. 
 
 "Ay, lass," he said. "I'd tek the money we've saved 
 for a porch and put you up a real good 'un so I would ! ' ' 
 
 "With 'dearly beloved first wife' on it?" said Mrs.
 
 THE DAY AFTER 199 
 
 Chubb. "Then all comers 'd know the second was only a 
 second." 
 
 "Well," said Chubb, "I think I should wait until I 
 got a second, and then stick in 'First' like you do when 
 you miss a word outer a letter. It'd look so bad to put 
 it on straight away ... as if I was on the lookout for 
 another a bit over quick." 
 
 ' ' But you '11 remember to put it in when the time comes, ' ' 
 urged Mrs. Chubb. 
 
 "Yes," said Chubb. 
 
 "Promise faithful." 
 
 "I'm a man of my word," said Chubb. "What I say 
 I'll do, that I do." Then he changed his tone, subcon- 
 sciously sore and miserable at the mere thought of losing 
 her. "Laying down the law about your own tombstone 
 now," he grunted. "Upon my word I don't know what 
 you '11 be up to next. Let me get away to the stable. ' ' 
 
 He hurtled out of the door and down the street, a 
 Bison with so sore a head now that he nearly charged 
 into poor Miss Amelia, who was coming round the corner 
 with a jelly for a sick woman which had been originally 
 sent to Miss Harriet, and which that exacting invalid had 
 termed glue and dishwater. 
 
 ' ' Fine morning though dull, ' ' tinkled Miss Amelia pleas- 
 antly in passing; and Chubb, bursting with strange oaths, 
 felt that this was indeed a world in which men such as 
 he had to respond with some degree of civility: "Dull 
 morning, Miss!" 
 
 If Miss Amelia had been in her usual frame of mind 
 she might, being sensitive to such things, have noticed 
 the irritability in the air that morning. But she was, 
 in a way, like Una among the lions, being engrossed with 
 an inner joy which kept her immune from outside distur- 
 bances. For a letter had come by the early post saying 
 that the large house belonging to the sisters had found a 
 tenant of unimpeachable antecedents and character who 
 would probably remain in it for some years, and Miss
 
 200 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Amelia was indeed praising God with the best member 
 she had which was certainly not her tongue as she hur- 
 ried through the grey streets. Her heart gave forth a 
 hymn of thanksgiving as simple and as real as that of 
 birds in the hedgerows beyond "Wendlebury, and she had 
 no doubt that the favourable let was a distinct answer to 
 many prayers said in the white bedroom once haunted 
 by Mary Jane. A life with a faith like Miss Amelia's is 
 set to such a lovely tune that it is always catching vibra- 
 tions from the high rooms of heaven. 
 
 All the same, she felt a little perturbed by the time 
 she reached Kyeford Terrace, despite a cup of tea in 
 prospect and a piece of pleasant news to tell. For she 
 had met Mary Carter on the way and had heard how Un- 
 win, pausing Paris-like between two girls, had publicly 
 tossed the apple of his open regard to Delia Lambert. 
 
 "Not that Pauline cares. As good fish in the sea ..." 
 Mary Carter had concluded. "Girls don't bother about 
 admirers as they did in your day, Miss Amelia. At least 
 there's a sort that does, but all the rest don't." She paused 
 and added with absolute truth: "I'm sure I don't. Too 
 busy to bother my head. So long as a man plays tennis 
 well, that's all I mind." 
 
 "How sensible!" Miss Amelia had responded, but she 
 was now approaching Aunt Dickson's house with a cer- 
 tain knowledge, derived she did not know whence, that the 
 "as good fish in the sea" principle would never apply to 
 Pauline. Some subtle bond of sympathy between the 
 highly educated modern girl trained in a London office 
 and the old country woman who had never gone further 
 than compound long division, made her know that Pauline 
 belonged to the women whose heart's lock only one key 
 will fit. 
 
 This company is a larger one than some think, and 
 members of it may be met all over the world, so that in 
 old English villages and New England towns and hotels 
 in Switzerland you may see charming and pretty old maids
 
 THE DAY AFTER 201 
 
 a pretty term so mishandled on every side. You may 
 hear the same remark; "I wonder why she has never 
 married!" offered everywhere like a bouquet of roses 
 to some oldish, unmarried woman: and the reason is that 
 the man with the key either never met her, or was so busy 
 looking at some one else he did not see her, or he has 
 proved unfaithful or died; and no other can open the 
 door of that closed heart. 
 
 It was Pauline's misfortune to be of this company 
 a misfortune because the happiness of married love be- 
 comes dependent on a single chance so Miss Amelia, who 
 knew all this without being aware of her knowledge, felt 
 perturbed as she went up the little garden, though she 
 nodded to Aunt Dickson at the open window with a face 
 wreathed in smiles and fluted out cheerfully 
 
 "We have let our house! I had to pop in and tell 
 you the good news." 
 
 Instantly, it was Aunt Dickson 's house that had been 
 let, and Aunt Dickson 's money troubles lightened 
 though she never had any so eagerly did she rejoice with 
 Miss Amelia. 
 
 "Tea!" she cried, pressing the tortoise until the elec- 
 tric bell whizzed through the house and Eva came run- 
 ning, hands red with soap-suds, aware somehow that 
 something nice had happened, and that she must hasten 
 to carry round the Wendlebury substitute for .nectar 
 amid that atmosphere of Olympian festival which Aunt 
 Dickson seemed able to create out of nothing. 
 
 "Eva you will be glad to hear that Miss Amelia has 
 let her house," said that lady at once, bursting with the 
 good news. And there in a single sentence you had it. 
 Eva was so jolly responsive even on washing-day, finding 
 nothing a trouble, because she was so intimately a part of 
 it all. 
 
 "Well! Miss, that is a blessing," she said, beaming 
 on Miss Amelia. "But we must all have our ups an' 
 downs, I s'pose, and the only way is to take 'em as they
 
 202 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 come. It's no use, as my poor Mother used to say, for to- 
 cry at night because it isn't next morning." She paused, 
 lowering her voice to the confidential note. "One thing 
 always puzzles me, though. At least it would if I went 
 on puzzling, but I don't. Same as them metal rings that 
 you try and try and can't, until you want to chuck 'em 
 at somebody's head. Nobody can't puzzle you with 'em, 
 if you put 'em down and won't be puzzled, can they?" 
 
 "No," said Miss Amelia politely, beaming with Eva 
 because of her excellent qualities. 
 
 "But it does seem to me," pursued Eva, "that there's 
 two sets of folks in the world, them that gets hit and 
 bounces, and them that gets hit and stops flat. ' ' She low- 
 ered her voice still further. "And it would seem to me, 
 if I wasn't a believer, that Them Above hits the bouncey 
 sort more than the others for the fun o' seeing 'em 
 bounce for that kind always gets more knocks." She 
 took up a tray and went towards the door, not noting 
 the shocked expression on Miss Amelia's face. "All the 
 same, I'm glad I was born a bouncer." 
 
 "Oh, here is Pauline," said Aunt Dickson, glad to 
 change the subject because of the worried look on Miss 
 Amelia's face, which showed her to be striving, in spite 
 of the word of warning, to solve the theological puzzle 
 set by Eva. "Now, talking of puzzles always reminds 
 me of Mrs. Delamere : she brought me one last week. And 
 I want Pauline to tell you that tale about her and the 
 fortune-telling lady. ' ' 
 
 Pauline frowned. 
 
 "I only told it to amuse you," she said quickly. "The 
 whole thing happened some time ago. It is not worth re- 
 peating. ' ' 
 
 But Miss Amelia perked up, growing a little flushed 
 and bright-eyed. 
 
 "You don't mean to say that Mrs. Delamere had her 
 fortune told? Why, she must be contemplating a second 
 alliance." For even when absent the great lady of Wen-
 
 THE DAY AFTER 203 
 
 dlebury demanded from simple Miss Amelia a certain 
 choice of language. "Who can it be? Not not the 
 Duke? He is a widower and I saw him speak to her at 
 the Castle Flower Show in June. I am sure ..." 
 
 ''Stop! Oh, please stop!" cried Pauline, half laughing 
 and half annoyed. "I did not say that Mrs. Delamere 
 consulted Miss Lambert about her matrimonial prospects. 
 She went on quite a different errand." 
 
 "Who told you so?" said Miss Amelia, evidently cling- 
 ing to her own idea. 
 
 "Mrs. Chubb." 
 
 "Ah!" Miss Amelia gave a tiny sigh of relief which 
 said plainly, "Only Mrs. Chubb!" Then she continued: 
 "Mrs. Chubb could not know. She could not be there." 
 
 "But she was," boomed Aunt Dickson, enjoying the 
 dramatic full stop. 
 
 "It was in this way," explained Pauline, anxious to get 
 in the plain tale. "Mrs. Delamere called on Miss Lam- 
 bert asking her to do palmistry for nothing at an after- 
 noon party on behalf of the Working Guild, and Mrs. 
 Chubb chanced to be cleaning in the passage with the 
 door open." 
 
 "So like Mrs. Chubb," murmured Miss Amelia; "and 
 what did Miss Lambert do?" 
 
 "Well," said Pauline, "she refused." 
 
 "Shy, perhaps," said Miss Amelia. "And what hap- 
 pened then?" 
 
 "Mrs. Delamere went at once and complained to the 
 police authorities," said Pauline. "That was, I suppose, 
 the real reason Miss Lambert got into trouble." 
 
 ' ' Ah ! I remember ; the time when Mr. Unwin went 
 to the rescue," said Miss Amelia. But noticing how the 
 blood rushed into Pauline's face at this bracketing of 
 Unwin and Delia she became anxious to make amends and 
 continued rather incoherently: "Of course, any gentle- 
 man . . . beauty in distress ... at least a graceful figure 
 though high cheek-bones . . . impossible to avoid coming
 
 204 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 to her assistance. . . . Nothing in it at all, no doubt." 
 
 "Mr. Unwin is very friendly with Miss Lambert, I 
 believe," said Pauline steadily, trying to ignore her own 
 burning cheeks. "He could do no less than give her any 
 help in his power." 
 
 "Yes . . . always so kind . . . Mary Jane. . . . But," 
 she added wistfully: "I sometimes wish I had never in- 
 terfered with Mary Jane. I sometimes think that a ghost, 
 even if you only think it a ghost, is better left alone." 
 
 "But why!" demanded Aunt Dickson. 
 
 "No reason, exactly," said Miss Amelia, sighing again, 
 for she was feeling responsible, via Mary Jane and the 
 chain of incidents which followed, for Pauline's unsuc- 
 cessful love-affair. The two young people first drew to- 
 gether during that episode, and now dear Pauline, like 
 herself, seemed about to lose the sweetest thing in life. 
 She could have found it in her gentle heart to administer 
 rat poison to the innocent Mary Jane, could such an act 
 have put events back as they were before. 
 
 She rose, therefore, vaguely sensible that this mur- 
 derous frame of mind was not one in which to converse 
 with an invalid a person always by some inverted rule 
 supposed to be better than others with every excuse for 
 being worse and so sighed herself out of the room and 
 down the clean steps again into the street. A few yards 
 away she turned round to look back affectionately at 
 Pauline, who had just ushered her out with the gay ten- 
 derness which refreshes tired elderly people like the hear- 
 ing of clear water on a hot, dusty road but only if it 
 springs up from the heart, otherwise it is like the irri- 
 tation of water dripping from a tap out of order. 
 
 Pauline, however, possessed this natural tenderness for 
 old people, and their need of her in some way dispersed 
 that reserve which was apt to set her apart from those 
 nearer her own age: a reserve of which she herself re- 
 mained quite unconscious though she knew that she was
 
 THE DAY AFTER 205 
 
 no good, as she sometimes regretfully said, at making 
 friends quickly. 
 
 But there was a true friendship between the girl on 
 the doorstep in her grey muslin gown and the lady step- 
 ping down the street between the narrow grey houses 
 edged with flowers beneath a grey sky a little harmony' 
 of things not splendid but somehow lovely. 
 
 Miss Amelia paused before her own house in passing 
 and hesitated, face flushed, delicate features working; 
 the very cat on the railing, blinking at her with one eye, 
 knew that she was in the throes of some desperate struggle 
 between "I will" and "I really can't." The cat, who 
 tepidly liked Miss Amelia, purred gently: "Don't, then, 
 don't! Keep your own corner. Take your own ease. 
 Why worry?" 
 
 Under this insidious influence Miss Amelia took two 
 steps towards her own safe, comfortable corner, then the 
 thought of Pauline's face when Unwin and Delia were 
 mentioned together stirred the "I will" into action and 
 she trotted hurriedly round the corner into the market 
 place. Several people spoke to her in passing, and she 
 gave such vague answers that they turned round, looking 
 after her, to remark that Miss Harriet's illness seemed 
 to have aged poor Miss Amelia. 
 
 At last she turned into the road near the Bowling 
 Green Inn, and, hearing from afar the familiar, raucous 
 "Mary Jane," she clenched her slender fist in the black 
 kid glove with fingers a little too large and hissed between 
 her lips: "You odious bird! If I could not say more 
 than that, I would keep quiet." Immediately the Jack- 
 daw obliged with "Damn your eye!" and having ended 
 his vocabulary relapsed into silence. 
 
 Miss Amelia shuddered slightly. This did indeed seem 
 a fitting prologue for the visit she was about to pay. A 
 faint sulphurous smell from a gas-works not far off com- 
 pleted the illusion. She knocked at the respectable door 
 of the little dressmaker with a subconscious feeling that
 
 S0 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 a gentleman in red, with horns, hoofs and tail might open 
 it, and when Delia appeared she was only partially reas- 
 sured, for a person who could hypnotise Unwin and Chubb 
 might also, no doubt, if she wished, exercise her nefarious 
 powers on the female sex. 
 
 This was not what Miss Amelia thought for she was 
 a decently educated maiden lady of modern times but 
 it was what she felt; and, fear being always more con- 
 cerned with feeling than conviction, her voice shook as she 
 quavered out nervously 
 
 "Are you at home? At least, I see ... If I might 
 ... I wish to speak to you on a private matter of some 
 importance. ' ' 
 
 "Come in," said Delia. "But you know I have under- 
 taken not to do any more fortune-telling in Wendlebury. 
 You would hear that I nearly got run in because of my 
 palmistry ? ' ' 
 
 Miss Amelia's failing resolution was stiffened a little 
 by this casual and barefaced mention of an episode, which 
 any right-minded female would know to be an unspeak- 
 able disgrace. 
 
 "I did, indeed, hear/' she said in a tone which caused 
 the pleasant smile to fade from her hostess' face. 
 
 "Pray sit down," responded Delia, and so obviously 
 waited to know Miss Amelia's business that the poor lady 
 blinking her eyes and feeling like an inexperienced 
 diver about to dive into deep water said, breathlessly 
 plunging 
 
 "Wendlebury is a place where a good deal of gossip 
 goes on." 
 
 "Yes?" said Delia. 
 
 "I thought I thought, perhaps you did not know 
 this." 
 
 "As Wendlebury is in the world I could scarcely help 
 knowing it." 
 
 "London " Miss Amelia choked a little, desperately,
 
 THE DAY AFTER 207 
 
 as it were, keeping her head above water. "London 
 such large places they don't, I believe." 
 
 "There's no greater gossip shop than the House of 
 Commons, I am told," said Delia, refusing to help Miss 
 Amelia at all. 
 
 "But not not about the same things about ladies 
 and gentlemen who are not engaged or married being 
 too friendly, for instance?" gasped Miss Amelia, going 
 under, head and all. But Delia felt no pity for the little 
 trembling lady; she was gripped by a bitter remembrance 
 of that early girlhood, when "talk" had driven her away 
 from the safe shelter of her own home into a world where 
 she had suffered so deeply and had found in the end only 
 the faults of the outcast. She looked back past Miss 
 Amelia, down the years, and saw the girl she was then, 
 with grave faults indeed, but high possibilities; she felt a 
 sudden impulse to punish this woman who came babbling 
 to her of Wendlebury gossip, trying to spoil the best and 
 cleanest friendship she had ever known. 
 
 "I suppose," she said at last, "that the friendship of 
 ladies and gentlemen as you so prettily phrase it as the 
 source of gossip is universal. It binds in happy com- 
 munion those wearing bearskins and eating blubber with 
 others eating rice and wearing nothing at all. An inter- 
 esting thought." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," murmured the distracted Miss Amelia. 
 "Oh, most interesting, of course . . . Child's guide to 
 knowledge ... I well remember wondering how the 
 Esquimaux could possibly ... oil always makes me so 
 bilious even in salad. ..." She breathed deeply, a wild 
 effort to get back to her purpose by tactful degrees. ' ' Now 
 some people never suffer from biliousness ... I should 
 say Mr. Unwin . . . such a clear complexion . . . 
 shouldn't you?" 
 
 "I have never asked him," said Delia. "I will re- 
 member to do so. He has no woman to look after his 
 health, poor fellow!"
 
 208 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Miss Amelia clasped her hands and took the opening 
 provided for her. 
 
 "No single lady has any right to look after any single 
 gentleman's health unless they are engaged, Miss Lam- 
 bert. Do I understand that you and he . . .?" 
 
 "You do not," said Delia; "at least from me. But 
 you sent Mr. Unwin some black-currant jelly when he 
 had a cold without being engaged. And I am sure you 
 would never be guilty of an impropriety." 
 
 "That is different. I am an old woman compared with 
 Mr. Unwin," said Miss Amelia. 
 
 "So am I," said Delia. 
 
 "Oh, yes," agreed Miss Amelia readily; so very readily 
 that the irresponsible Delia gave an involuntary inward 
 chuckle which suddenly changed her black mood into a 
 mere malicious desire to torment the inquisitor. 
 
 "You have come, in fact," said Delia, "like a lady of 
 melodrama to ask me to release Mr. Unwin from my 
 clutches. Is that not so?" 
 
 "Oh, no ... I did not mean ... I only feared you 
 might not realise ..." fluttered Miss Amelia. ' ' I thought 
 we might perhaps just talk things over in a friendly 
 way." 
 
 Delia rose and went to the mantelpiece, whence she 
 took a cigarette case and a box of matches. 
 
 "Well," she remarked, "I am ready to hear what 
 you have to say. But no self-respecting villain or vil- 
 lainess ever talked a situation over without a cigar or 
 cigarette. A pipe never seems to aid the course of in- 
 trigue, there is something so warmly human about it 
 besides which I am sure that even your interest in Miss 
 Westcott would never induce you to smoke a pipe." 
 
 "Miss Westcott! I never mentioned Pauline's name," 
 said Miss Amelia. 
 
 "No, but she was like the old Emperor of China, all 
 the more potent for not being spoken of, ' ' said Delia, hold- 
 ing out the case. ' ' Won 't you take one ? ' '
 
 THE DAY AFTER 209 
 
 "No, thank you," replied Miss Amelia, rising with 
 dignity. 
 
 "But I am afraid you can't get to know anything 
 from me without taking a cigarette," said Delia. "I 
 am very sorry, hut I cannot become confidential now 
 unless the person I am talking to is also smoking. A 
 matter of habit, of course, but there it is. Habit, as 
 you know, Miss Amelia, is the strongest chain that binds 
 the human will." 
 
 "But I can't I don't know how," said Miss Amelia, 
 almost whimpering. 
 
 "Then I can't, either. So we come to a deadlock," 
 said Delia, with decision. 
 
 Reluctantly, tremblingly, Miss Amelia held out her 
 hand and took a cigarette, holding it as if it were red-hot, 
 and indeed the thought passed through her confused brain 
 that if this were not holding a candle to the devil it was 
 at least lighting a cigarette because of a lady too in- 
 timately acquainted with him. Only her love for Pauline 
 could have made her stammer forth as she did 
 
 "W- which end? I-Is there any difference?" 
 
 Delia almost relented then, but all the bitterness had 
 not yet departed and her eyes were cruel despite the 
 twinkle in them as she replied gravely 
 
 "Either will do, unless they are gold tipped. Got a 
 light?" 
 
 "Y-yes," said Miss Amelia, recalling far-off days when 
 she made soap blubbles and blowing diffidently through 
 the odious thing in a like fashion. Then she coughed, 
 and cried, choking: "The window! The window!" 
 
 "You're ill!" exclaimed Delia, snatching away the 
 cigarette. "Oh, I didn't mean to make you ill. But 
 you haven't had time yet, surely." And she flung up 
 the window. 
 
 "No, no," said Miss Amelia, faintly smiling back. "I 
 didn't mean open the window. I meant pull down the 
 blind. Mrs. Delamere is passing."
 
 210 THE GiOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "She can't see through me," said Delia, moved to 
 reassure in spite of everything. "I am between you and 
 the window, you know." 
 
 Miss Amelia dabbed a small lawn handkerchief upon 
 her brow. 
 
 "Mrs. Delamere is so particular. She objects to nearly 
 everything. A breath and you are done for with Mrs. 
 Delamere." 
 
 Delia stood looking down at Miss Amelia, and a certain 
 hardness and cruelty which was not a part of her nature 
 but a deposit life had laid on it, showed in her expression. 
 At last she said slowly 
 
 "Then none of the Delamere army have ever erred? 
 No scandal has ever touched them?" 
 
 "There imay have been something very long ago," 
 said Miss Amelia nervously. "But Lord Southwater and 
 Mrs. Delamere never mention it, of course, and we do not 
 either. Everybody has relations whom they wish to for- 
 get," added the little lady simply. 
 
 "But what if .Richard Delamere came back?" said 
 Delia, a perverse whim seizing her to break this ring of 
 silence that surrounded the dead man. "What would 
 they do then?" 
 
 Miss Amelia gazed up at Delia, startled by something 
 she could not understand. 
 
 "I I don't know," she said helplessly. "I fear they 
 would find it very inconvenient." 
 
 "Inconvenient!" said Delia, and for a moment she 
 stood staring before her, still with that odd inward gaze: 
 then she turned to Miss Amelia and said in a different 
 tone 
 
 "Well, I don't think they need be afraid of ever hear- 
 ing his name again. That's over." 
 
 "What is? You speak as if you had known him, Miss 
 Lambert," said Miss Amelia. 
 
 "Do I? Oh, that is just your fancy," said Delia; then
 
 THE DAY AFTER 211 
 
 she added abruptly, "Well, what is it you want? Or 
 have we talked things over enough already?" 
 
 "I want ..." said Miss Amelia. ''Oh, dear, it sounds 
 so unpleasant." 
 
 "Don't say it then," responded Delia. 
 
 "Oh, but I must. It is what I came for," said Miss 
 Amelia. "I I want you to go away from Wendlebury 
 at once and never come back any more." 
 
 "Like poor Delamere." 
 
 "I really don't know why you will persist in dragging 
 him in," said Miss Amelia agitatedly, beginning to weep 
 a little. " I 'm sure I hate being unkind. ' ' 
 
 "But you think that if I leave everything will go 
 right?" said Delia. "Mr. Unwin will return to your 
 Pauline and all will be happy ever after?" 
 
 "I hope so," faltered Miss Amelia. "And I am sure 
 you would prefer a large town where you could do as 
 you like and no one say anything. I am sure you would 
 be sorry to get Mr. Unwin talked about in return for 
 all his kindness." 
 
 "Then you think my friendship is injuring Mr. Un- 
 win?" said Delia. "Well, he leaves Wendlebury in a 
 fortnight himself, so that cannot matter much now." 
 
 Miss Amelia moved crestfallen towards the door, mur- 
 muring as she went 
 
 "I'm told ... in love affairs ... a great deal may 
 happen in a brief space of time." 
 
 Again Delia smiled, but on this occasion the odd ex- 
 pression the something between cruelty and mischief 
 which had made her flattish nose and high cheek-bones 
 and long eyes singularly resemble a cat tormenting a 
 mouse, now gave place to her old look of careless good- 
 nature. 
 
 "Let us part friends, won't you?" she said, holding 
 out her hand. "You know we liked each other when 
 you came to have your fortune told, did we not ? ' '
 
 212 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Miss Amelia took the hand held out, though with some 
 reluctance. 
 
 "I am aware that this has been an unwarrantable in- 
 trusion, Miss Lambert," she said sadly. "But when you 
 care for people you do things . . . perhaps you may not 
 understand. ..." 
 
 "I think I understand. Good-bye, Miss Amelia," said 
 Miss Lambert very gently. 
 
 And in that moment the good in Delia answered the 
 good in Miss Amelia very plainly, just as it had done 
 during their first interview. One of those unspoken con- 
 versations in which what people are does all the talking, 
 began beautifully and might have led as such often do 
 to beautiful things happening; when Miss Amelia broke 
 out into articulate words, saying very distinctly 
 
 "Then you will kindly tell Miss Walker to put another 
 width in my green skirt." 
 
 "Green skirt!" echoed Delia. 
 
 And she saw Mrs. Delamere just across the street, 
 flashing every tooth in her head at the Eural Dean.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE TENNIS CLUB 
 
 EVA, opening the front door for Pauline, peered up at 
 the blue sky flecked with clouds and remarked: "I 
 nope it'll hold up. It has rained once this morning," 
 thus bearing unconscious witness to the fact that it must 
 rain every day in Wendlebury. "You want fine weather 
 this afternoon, for they say that Mr. Unwin " 
 
 "I really wish " began Pauline. 
 
 "Oh, well!" said Eva, accepting the rebuke before it 
 came. "You'll never make me keep my mouth shut. 
 Us Martins was always newsy. Still, there's fors and 
 againsts. The world's a bad enough place as it is, Miss 
 Pauline, but just you think of the awful things people 
 would do that they don't, if only they weren't so fright- 
 ened of being talked about." 
 
 Pauline descended the steps without pursuing the sub- 
 ject further, and walked rather slowly down the street. 
 The sheer white linen of her tennis dress seemed to rob 
 her of that elusive charm which her grey gowns served to 
 heighten. Miss Amelia, watching her go by, was not far 
 wrong in saying that Pauline looked "somehow quenched." 
 
 "Somehow quenched!" retorted Miss Harriet from her 
 sofa. "My dear Amelia, one would never imagine from 
 your mode of speech that our father had allowed us a 
 liberal education. A daughter of William Pritchard 
 should speak refined English as instinctively as she uses 
 her pocket-handkerchief." 
 
 Miss Amelia, always responsive to suggestion, felt her 
 
 213
 
 214 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 nose-end tickle and blew her nose, saying rather sharply 
 
 "It seems a little hard that you should always go on 
 reminding me that you won the Grammar Prize at school, 
 and I did not, Harriet. I should liave thought you 
 might let it drop after all these years." 
 
 Then each knitted in silence, or rather Miss Amelia 
 fidgeted in her chair by the window and clicked an in- 
 termittent stitch or two, keeping one eye ever on the pave- 
 ment outside, until Miss Harriet remarked with justifi- 
 able annoyance 
 
 "Really, Amelia, if you have contracted a denizen of 
 the poultry yard, you would do well to retire and re- 
 move it at once. Your restlessness is unbearable." 
 
 "I'm sorry," said Miss Amelia. "I am only watching 
 for Mr. Unwin. I wish to speak to him as he passes and 
 he is sure to go to the tennis club this afternoon." 
 
 "What do you want with him?" said Miss Harriet. 
 
 "Oh, just to say good-bye," murmured Miss Amelia, 
 turning pink from forehead to chin. "I may not see 
 him again. Oh! here he is!" And as she hurried front 
 the room Miss Harriet called after her 
 
 "You may give him my best wishes. He was exceed- 
 ingly obliging about that ridiculous jackdaw." 
 
 But Miss Amelia had already reached the pavement 
 outside. Her grey hair, which had been so long light 
 mixed with grey, and then grey mixed with light, that 
 this sign of age had crept unawares upon her, was blowing 
 rather untidily in the breeze. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Unwin!" she said in a low, hurried voice, 
 looking up and down the street like a white mouse turned 
 conspirator. "The jewels. . . . Here is the money . . . 
 gold, lest the notes be traced." 
 
 "Jewels!" said Unwin stupidly. Then he remembered 
 and clapped his hand to his pocket. "Bless my soul, 
 yes!" he exclaimed. "I have the pawn tickets here. I 
 meant to go round for them at lunch-time to-day." 
 
 "Could you " Miss Amelia paused. "Do you
 
 THE TENNIS CLUB 215 
 
 think you could add to all your great kindness by bring- 
 ing them to our back door after dark? Our new maid 
 will be having her night out then." 
 
 "All right," said Unwin, and he smiled very kindly 
 down upon the little lady. 
 
 "You're sure you don't mind?" said Miss Amelia anx- 
 iously. "And please do not think it odd if you hear me 
 calling you the butter. It comes very late on a Friday 
 evening, and my sister Harriet will perhaps require some 
 explanation of your knock. Oh, I do dislike such untruth- 
 fulness, but when you once begin " And such was the 
 
 wistful seriousness of Miss Amelia's glance that Unwin 
 felt constrained to reply with equal seriousness: "You 
 did it for the best." 
 
 Then they said farewell and he pursued his way to 
 the tennis club, where he managed, as usual, to convey 
 the impression that he rode on the crest of the wave. 
 He was helped in this by his natural buoyancy of step, 
 bright eyes and cleanness of outline, but intention was 
 there too. The quality in his temperament, vanity or 
 pluck or whatever it might be, which made him so hate 
 to be pitied, was at this moment in danger of swamping 
 every other consideration. All his bright mind and will 
 ministered to it so willingly that he was not in the least 
 conscious of playing a part as he greeted the group of 
 people standing near the summer house. 
 
 It was already late in the afternoon and the sun seemed 
 to have gained colour from slanting all day across corn- 
 fields nearly ripe for harvest. The clear, cool golden 
 light, quite different from southern sunshine, and the 
 vivid green of the grass, and the red and white of the 
 pleasant English faces, made a picture that Unwin was 
 to keep always in that strange gallery of the mind where 
 no one can by effort fill a single space. Pauline stood in 
 the shadow of a tree; the crudeness of her white gown 
 had changed to every lovely tone of dappled grey and 
 gold. She was hatless, and her hair stood out sombrely
 
 216 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 ^nid her delicate, pointed features. Her elusive charm 
 
 1 returned now, and her absolute stillness as she stood 
 
 ere throbbing with life and passion and vitality vaguely 
 impressed Unwin. He felt forced to look at her, and 
 i glanced away, and then looked again ; so long as she 
 remained silent, she was his. But when Mary Carter 
 made some laughing remark to her, which she answered, 
 the spell began to lose power. Then the Vicar blew a blast 
 upon his nose, and Unwin 's magic castle which had sprung 
 up so wonderfully in an instant fell down flat, not even 
 a trace of it was left. 
 
 "Our Vice-President!" announced the Vicar's wife, ap- 
 parently making the blast useful to trumpet Mrs. Dela- 
 mere's approach. 
 
 "Not often we see Mrs. Delamere here," said Unwin. 
 
 "There's my father!" said Mary Carter. "You see him 
 at a tennis club more seldom still." 
 
 "Better have it at once," murmured young Carter, 
 wearing the air of a Cabinet Minister at least. 
 
 "This sort of thing wants to appear easy and natural; 
 nothing stiff," murmured a lean man from the bank; 
 then he added, loudly: "Mr. Vicar, I think you prom- 
 ised " 
 
 ' ' Ahem ! ' ' coughed the Vicar at once, not because his 
 throat was sore, but because in his callow curate-hood 
 he had been wont so to reassure himself, and it had grown 
 into a habit. "I am sure, my dear friends, you have not 
 come here to hear me talk. Plenty of that at other times, 
 eh?" And he paused for the tinkle of laughter which 
 obediently followed. "We are here to wish our young 
 friend good luck, and I am sure I voice the sentiments 
 of all present when I say that he will be greatly missed 
 in this tennis club. The welfare of the town itself is not 
 a matter to enlarge upon on such an occasion as the 
 present, still Mr. Unwin 's connection with architecture 
 brings one naturally in touch with the great question of
 
 THE TENNIS CLUB 217 
 
 the town water supply, and I will just ask you to bear 
 with me for a few moments while I " 
 
 But here somebody sacrificed two cups and a saucer, 
 the property of the club, to the general success of the 
 occasion, it being a known fact that when the Vicar 
 asked the AVendlebury folk to bear with him for a few 
 moment nothing less than an earthquake would stop 
 him short of. half an hour, and the waiting Mrs. Delamere 
 already began to wear a pained, perfunctory smile. The 
 crash was followed by exclamations and surmises as to 
 how it could possibly have happened, and young Carter 
 hastened to say 
 
 "We will now call upon our Vice-President to perform 
 the office which she has so graciously undertaken to 
 perform." 
 
 Mrs. Delamere stepped forward, flashed her teeth bril- 
 liantly on every one, even including Pauline, and said 
 in the high, made-up voice used by many ladies in public 
 speaking 
 
 "I am sure it is a very great pleasure to me to be 
 present this afternoon. Mr. Unwin is going to a land 
 where young men are needed, and no doubt he will 
 will will Here Mrs. Delamere endeavoured to con- 
 sult a card concealed in her glove, but being unable to 
 abstract it, she continued extempore: "will do better 
 than he has done here. I mean a hot climate more suited 
 that is She regained both head and card to- 
 
 gether. "I have great pleasure in handing this cigarette 
 case to Mr. Unwin, and I trust that as he inhales the fra- 
 grant weed amid palms and prosperity he will often re- 
 member the Wendlebury Tennis Club." 
 
 "Hear! Hear!" said every one. 
 
 "Very neat!" said the lean man from the bank. 
 
 " It 's awfully good of you awfully, ' ' said Unwin, bear- 
 ing with some embarrassment a situation in which few peo- 
 ple shine. "I don't know how to thank you, but I shall 
 think about you all often enough, no fear."
 
 218 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 And, indeed, his gay assumption of regretting nothing 
 he left behind, which had almost deceived even himself, 
 seemed in danger of failing as he looked round at these 
 people whom he had known more or less all his life, and 
 saw how much real kindness and friendliness they felt 
 for him. Yet both to him and them it was evident 
 that he was going away under a cloud, though they did 
 their best to make it seem as if the cloud were not there. 
 Even the attitude of Mrs. Delamere meant nothing, really, 
 because she would present anything or open anything if 
 approached as the chief lady of Wendlebury, lest some 
 one else should usurp her place. 
 
 He did not look at Pauline's face, but he saw her 
 fingers closing tightly over her tennis racket with that 
 delicate sureness of touch which was so characteristic of 
 her. Suddenly, for no reason at all as it seemed, he 
 wanted violently to unclasp them and kiss them until his 
 lips were bruised with the pressure. Then he heard 
 Mary Carter's sensible, cheery voice saying 
 
 ' ' What about another sett before the light all goes ? ' ' 
 
 Thus was the little function brought to a natural close, 
 and Unwin realised what a nice girl Mary was, and vowed 
 to send her beads or grasses or whatever can be sent with 
 discretion from West Africa to a young lady with whom 
 one has never had any sentimental relations. 
 
 The group immediately broke up, and as the young 
 people walked across the grass the light was already dim 
 in the far corner of the field under the beech trees. Pauline 
 walked away, hesitated until Unwin was momentarily 
 alone, and then went up to him. 
 
 "May I see the cigarette case again?" she asked 
 abruptly. 
 
 "Of course," he said in a formal tone, taking it from 
 his pocket. "Such a good design, isn't it?" 
 
 "Very." 
 
 "So kind of every one," added Unwin, not knowing
 
 THE TENNIS CLUB 219 
 
 exactly what he did say, because Pauline bent so close 
 to him, peering at the case in his hand. 
 
 "You really are going next week?" she said, touching 
 the engraved inscription. 
 
 "Yes," said Unwin. "Didn't you know?" 
 
 "I heard so. I supposed so." 
 
 The others passed on out of hearing and they were 
 now quite alone. A great many unspoken questions 
 vibrated between them. At last Pauline said in a low 
 voice, without looking at him 
 
 "I want to speak to you. Will you come with me 
 under the beech trees?" 
 
 "Yes." He hesitated. "Yes, if you really want me 
 to." 
 
 She nodded and they went on a little way without 
 speaking, both instinctively anxious to put a greater dis- 
 tance between themselves and the others before saying any 
 more. 
 
 "You'll wonder " murmured Pauline, flitting grey 
 
 in her white gown like a spirit of the mist under the 
 deep trees. 
 
 "Not at all," said Unwin stiffly. What game was she 
 playing with him now ? Did she want to whistle him back 
 just at the last? No fear! He was not having any. 
 
 She stopped in the deepest shadow and waited for him 
 to come up; her eyes burnt bright, even in that green 
 darkness. 
 
 "I want to tell you something," she said. "I can't let 
 you go without telling you. You shall not go away dis- 
 heartened, thinking it is something in you that lost you 
 the post. You are as capable and certain of success as 
 ever. It 's only ..." She broke off, trembling. 
 
 He pushed his head forward, staring into her face. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "You'll hear," she said breathlessly. "I'm not going 
 to think, and I'm not going to care. You may even tell
 
 220 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 your Miss Lambert what I've said if you like. I 
 must ..." 
 
 "Pauline!" he shouted, so that those beyond looked 
 round. "You've never been jealous of Delia Lambert? 
 What an ass I was not to think of that ! But I somehow 
 never thought you could be jealous of a chap like me. 
 You seemed so above it all." 
 
 "Hush! They'll hear you," said Pauline. 
 
 "Let 'em!" he said. "If you make any fuss I shall 
 take you in my arms and kiss you before the whole lot. 
 They can see if they like. I don 't care. Oh ! Pauline 
 
 you don't know how a man feels I've waited so long 
 
 My darling! My darling!" 
 
 He drew her almost roughly into the deeper shadow 
 of a narrow place between a giant beech and the hedge 
 and, unclasping the supple fingers which were about the 
 tennis racket, he kissed them as he had wished to do. At 
 first she held herself away from him, but soon the strength 
 of his young passion so kindled hers that she could only lie 
 silent on his breast and let him kiss her as he would. 
 Nothing seemed real any more, but his touch and the feel 
 of his coat on her cheek and his lips on hers. 
 
 "So this was what you really had to tell me, eh, Pau- 
 line?" he whispered at last. 
 
 She started as if a cold hand had been laid on her heart, 
 then she felt the pressure of his arms and was reassured; 
 nothing could endanger their love now; she would still 
 tell him because she so wanted him to go on being so 
 splendidly sure of himself and because it was certain 
 that she could never be happy, married to him, with a 
 secret such as this between them which might come out 
 at any time. They would share this injury which she had 
 done his career as they were to share everything else in 
 life. 
 
 Feeling thus, she made sure that TJnwin would feel 
 the same, and it was with deep contrition, but no real 
 fear, that she answered finally
 
 THE TENNIS CLUB 221 
 
 "No. I was going to say something quite different 
 . . . Maurice ..." But here their rapture in hearing 
 her call him by his name for the first time stopped all 
 further conversation for awhile, until she released herself 
 and pushed back her heavy chair. "Wait, dear, I can't 
 talk when you hold me so," she said, with that little 
 husky note in her sweet voice which he had always loved. 
 Then as he came towards her once more she said breath- 
 lessly, feeling instinctively that she would never have the 
 courage again: "Maurice, it was I who lost you the post." 
 
 "You!" he said, then he tossed the ridiculous idea 
 from him as one may a feather. "I don't believe it!" 
 
 "It is true," she said; and she began to feel afraid. 
 
 "How could you possibly influence Lord South water?" 
 
 He smiled, putting his arm about her again and mur- 
 muring in her ear: "Conceited little goose . . . thinks 
 she can rule the world." 
 
 But Pauline was not going to lose her chance; th^ir 
 life together should not be spoiled by the banal compli-> 
 cation of an untold secret. "I saw you outside the Dragon 
 at Ryeford that morning Johnson died. You stood there 
 leaning against the doorway in your evening clothes. I 
 thought ..." And then it was she who tlung out her 
 arms and pressed him to her. "I thought you were 
 drunk. I told Aunt Dickson so, Maurice." 
 
 "You thought I was drunk? You believed me to be a 
 drunkard?" he said stupidly, staring at her. 
 
 "Yes." The word fell heavily to Pauline's own ear, 
 like a stone falling down into depths hitherto unguessed. 
 
 "When you laughed and talked and went out with 
 me, you really believed I was a drunkard." 
 
 "Not always," faltered Pauline. "Only only now and 
 then by a sort of accident. It was before I loved you. 
 Oh, it seems incredible to me now that I ever could have 
 thought such a thing, much less have repeated it ! But 
 I have suffered as well as you. I can't tell you how I
 
 222 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 have suffered." She paused, weeping. "Can you ever 
 forgive me?" 
 
 There followed a silence, and then he said in a toneless 
 voice 
 
 "Oh, yes; I forgive you all right." 
 
 "But you don't love me any more?" she said, her 
 desperate eyes searching his face, her fingers twining 
 round his unresponsive hand. Then she let his hand drop. 
 "Maurice! Maurice! It can't be that you won't love 
 me any more?" 
 
 He looked away from her at the distant tennis groups. 
 
 "I can't help it," he said heavily. "You were just 
 a make-up of my own imagination. The girl I thought 
 you were would have been too loyal and straight. ... I 
 thought you were above all other girls." 
 
 "It's not my fault you thought that," cried Pauline, 
 almost beside herself with this reaction from the intense 
 happiness of a few minutes ago. "I'm only like all the 
 rest, excepting in one thing. ... I love you more than 
 any one else could." 
 
 "And yet you told this tale all round "Wendlebury?" 
 
 "No. No. I only told it to Aunt Diekson. She men- 
 tioned it in confidence meaning only kindly by you to 
 Miss Argle, who no doubt repeated it to Mrs. Delamere. 
 I have never heard any mention of it in Wendlebury." 
 
 "Then you don't know for certain that Mrs. Delamere 
 told Lord South water?" 
 
 There was a pause. A last couple of players still tossed 
 up the balls in the evening twilight. Forty! Love! 
 
 "I do know," said Pauline. "I asked Lord South- 
 water myself." 
 
 "You went cap in hand for me, begging the job after 
 he had turned me down!" exclaimed Unwin. "Well 
 . . . that's the limit." 
 
 "I was so sorry. It was all my fault. I wanted to 
 put things right," said Pauline humbly.
 
 THE TENNIS CLUB 223 
 
 "Had he heard the story?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But he is a just man. Surely he did not make up 
 his mind without further inquiries?" said Unwin. 
 
 "Xo, but ..." She paused, then held up her head 
 and looked him straight in the face. "I will tell the 
 truth. It was the story that first put any douht into his 
 mind. So he began to make inquiries in Wendlebury." 
 
 "What could Wendlebury say about me?" demanded 
 Unwin. 
 
 "Oh, it's not what Wendlebury can, but what Wendle- 
 bury will!" cried Pauline. "You must know that by 
 now. And every one thinks you irresponsible because 
 you are full of fun and never consider what people will 
 say." 
 
 "I see," said Unwin, moving a step or two towards 
 the tennis players. "Almost too late to play, isn't it?" 
 
 Pauline felt herself dismissed into a world of outer 
 darkness. Any passion of reproach would have been 
 less hopeless than those few simple words. She walked 
 silently by him while a pigeon wheeled across the sky 
 with golden light on its wings. "Love all!" the tennis 
 players called. 
 
 It was to Pauline as if she heard the final clang of 
 Eden's gates. Desperately, she caught Unwin 's hand in 
 hers and pressed it. 
 
 "Maurice! I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it! I 
 would have died sooner than lose you your job." 
 
 His hand remained heavily unresponsive in hers. "All 
 right. Don't you worry! If Southwater is so easily put 
 off as all that I would rather not work with him. ' ' 
 
 "Then this is the end?" said Pauline. 
 
 "Oh!" he paused, and the voices of the tennis players 
 filled in the silence. "I think I'll just ... a last 
 sett. . . ." 
 
 He walked away from her and she was alone. The 
 breeze had fallen; every leaf stood still above her head.
 
 224 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Love all! There was something strange and terrible to 
 her in that golden stillness with the light voices of the 
 players calling out the name of love. She was vaguely 
 waking, in a mist of agony, to the knowledge that a 
 man may forgive an injury to his love but seldom to his 
 pride. 
 
 And Unwin, struck deep in his weakest point, was at 
 that moment conscious of nothing else save his own pain. 
 He was like a bull blinded by its own blood as he crossed 
 the field and climbed over the fence into the road to avoid 
 the players at the gate. It was an exit often used by 
 him, and he plunged across the road with his head down, 
 looking neither right nor left. 
 
 Almost immediately there was a shout, a grinding 
 sound of brakes and clutches, and Unwin lay on the dusty 
 ground, unconscious, with two middle-aged motorists 
 bending over him. 
 
 "Only stunned, I think," said the man, who was no 
 other than the father of that youthful Argle of Argle 
 Towers so concerned about his dress clothes. "His heart 
 is all right and there seem to be no bones broken." 
 
 "But what on earth are we to do with him?" said 
 Mrs. Argle, gazing aimlessly round at the deserted road. 
 "We can't leave him here, you know." 
 
 Mr. Argle agreed, for though one of those keen motor- 
 ists to whom pedestrians on a road are but as slugs on a 
 cabbage to a gardener, he yet possessed human feelings. 
 
 "We had better put him in the car and take him 
 home/' suggested Mrs. Argle. 
 
 "Grand idea!" said Mr. Argle, then his face clouded. 
 "We don't know where his home is." 
 
 "Look in his pockets!" 
 
 "Good! Oh, a pawn ticket. Doesn't look like a chap 
 who would be driven to that, but you never know. No 
 card? No letters? Oh, here is a cigarette case with an 
 inscription. Unwin! Why, bless mv soul, I ought to
 
 THE TENNIS CLUB 225 
 
 have recognised him at once. He's that architect chap 
 who was to have gone to Southwater. Here . . . you 
 lift his feet and I'll . . ." 
 
 Then Umvin opened his eyes, put a dazed hand across 
 his brow and said faintly 
 
 "What . . . what are you doing?" 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry, my dear chap. We knocked you 
 down. You popped over the fence suddenly and it was 
 all done in a minute," said Mr. Argle. "Can you stand?" 
 
 "I think so," said Unwin, in a mazed fashion, still 
 scarcely knowing where he was. 
 
 "Then pop into the car and we'll have you home in 
 no time," said Argle. 
 
 "We are so sorry," added Mrs. Argle casually, handing 
 him his hat. 
 
 The car went on again, full speed ahead the Argles 
 being already late for dinner with their relative, Miss 
 Argle, whom they visited as a family duty at very rare 
 intervals and the cool rushing air soon revived Unwin. 
 His youth and strength enabled him to shake off the 
 outward effects of the accident far more quickly than 
 seemed possible when he was lying prone in the dust a 
 few minutes earlier, and he insisted on being put down 
 at the corner of the market place, though his legs trembled 
 as he began to walk on after bidding the Argles farewell. 
 The houses round seemed at first a little unsteady, as if 
 a queer, silent earthquake were taking place in Wendle- 
 bury, but he jammed his hat on his head and forced him- 
 self to walk jauntily across the market square, giving suit- 
 able greetings and replies to two or three people whom he 
 encountered. 
 
 "Yes. Knocked down by a car! Nasty knock, but all 
 right now. Lovely night!" And so on, until he gained 
 the safe guidance of the street beyond. His own concern, 
 instinctively, was to hide the wound Pauline had given him. 
 He would still seem to have all he wanted; none should
 
 226 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 think for a moment that he was there, cap in hand, 
 asking anything of any one in the world, even of fate. 
 
 He was obliged, however, to stand still for a moment 
 or two to steady himself, and his glance fell on three 
 golden balls opposite. What were they playing at? Why 
 could they not keep quiet? Butter . . . butter. . . . 
 What had they to do with butter ? Then his groping mind 
 caught it. Miss Amelia! Poor old girl, he must not for- 
 get her. She would be hanging out of that back door and 
 getting a cold. He laughed feebly, still a little dizzy and 
 light-headed, and went into the pawnshop. 
 
 He must have been walking about aimlessly after that 
 for some time with the jewelry box under his arm, for it 
 was quite dark when he stood outside Miss Amelia's door 
 and knocked gently. It was opened at once, and she peered 
 out, blinking over a candle which guttered in the draught. 
 
 "Hush!" she whispered. "Most unfortunate. He has 
 been early for once. The butter, I mean. If you really 
 would forgive me . . ." Aloud she continued in an arti- 
 ficial shaky falsetto : ' ' No muffins to-day, thank you ! ' ' 
 
 From above came a commanding voice 
 
 "Muffins! At this time of night ! The man must think 
 we're mad. Tell him so!" 
 
 Poor Miss Amelia, pressing her heart with her left hand 
 while she took the jewelry box with her right, endeavoured 
 thus to convey her sense of eternal gratitude while she 
 echoed forlornly 
 
 "Muffins ... at this time of night . . . you must be 
 mad!" 
 
 "Shut that door at once. There is a draught," called 
 Miss Harriet. 
 
 "Good-night," whispered Miss Amelia, "and God bless 
 you!" 
 
 Then Unwin was out in the streets again, unable to go 
 home though he felt tired, needing food, but sickened by 
 the thought of it. He was conscious of a loneliness like 
 that of a stray dog, and yet he rejected with distaste
 
 THE TENNIS CLUB 227 
 
 the idea of visiting any friend in Wendlebury. They 
 were all so kind, but he wanted something different from 
 their cheerful talk and brightly lighted rooms. He 
 wanted . . . 
 
 Quite suddenly he realised that Delia would do.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM 
 
 UNWIN sat in the large chair by the empty fire-grate 
 smoking a cigarette. He had told Delia about the 
 motor accident, but she knew quite well that there was 
 something more behind this which he had not told her, 
 and which accounted for the beaten look on his face as 
 he sat there in the shadow of the mantelpiece. 
 
 She answered lightly, however, and after a while went 
 out of the room, remaining away some minutes. There 
 was a faint chink of crockery in the kitchen, the sound of 
 a popping cork; but it all came vaguely to Unwin, like 
 things heard in a miserable dream. He rose from his 
 seat . . . time to go on again. His urging restlessness 
 would not let him remain here any longer. 
 
 Delia heard his footsteps and called out to him cas- 
 ually 
 
 "Here! Will you carry my supper-tray in before you 
 go? Miss Walker is out and it is rather heavy." 
 
 He frowned impatiently and went to the kitchen. Of 
 course he must help her before he went. There was some- 
 thing so deeply engrained in him, obliging him to help 
 all women, that it was instinctive and held even in this 
 dark hour. But he muttered under his breath: "Damn 
 the supper!" 
 
 Delia gave him the tray and he carried it back into 
 the room. It contained fresh butter, crusty bread and 
 sardines in tomato. He began to feel a slight desire for 
 food. 
 
 "Well, I must go home now," he said dully. 
 
 228
 
 THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM 229 
 
 "All right. Have a drink first, though. You must 
 be thirsty." 
 
 And he realised all at once that his tongue and throat 
 were very dry. 
 
 "I was going to give myself a treat," she continued 
 with a little laugh. "Strawberry punch. Miss Walker 
 gave me a few late strawberries. You know how it is 
 made." 
 
 She picked them as she spoke, putting them into a jug 
 where she crushed them up with a spoonful of powdered 
 sugar, speaking lightly all the time, as much to herself as 
 to him, and he found it soothing to watch her. "Now the 
 liquid." She poured from another jug which was on 
 the tray. "Now a dash of soda-water. If only I had 
 some ice ... the strawberries ought to have stood an 
 hour or two ... it won't be so bad. ..." She poured 
 a glassful carefully, leaving the strawberries at the bot- 
 tom of the jug. ' ' Taste it ! " 
 
 He took the glass eagerly, realising at last a raging 
 thirst, and the cool, fruit-flavoured liquid slipped down 
 his hot throat with a most delicious freshness. It was all 
 gone before he drew breath. 
 
 "I say, I wanted that drink," he said, putting down 
 the glass. "What is there in it? I never tasted anything 
 so good." 
 
 "Oh, only strawberries and soda-water and a half- 
 pint bottle of champagne I had left over from my party. 
 Don't you remember? The one I had to celebrate my 
 legacy?" 
 
 She was now cutting bread and spreading butter as 
 she spoke, seeming to pay no attention to Unwin, who 
 sat down again by the mantelpiece. 
 
 "Good butter you get in Wendlebury . . . whatever 
 else . . . and real home-made bread. I'm going to have 
 a sardine sandwich, will you?" She held out the plate. 
 "Strawberry punch is rather indigestible without eating. 
 Help yourself."
 
 230 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Unwin took a sandwich and began to eat unwillingly; 
 it tasted good. He stretched out his hand and took an- 
 other from the plate which Delia had left on the corner 
 of the table near his seat. She poured more strawberry 
 punch for him, and he did not notice that she only drank 
 plain soda-water herself. He was still unhappy, but the 
 world seemed a less drearily, uncomfortable place. He 
 was very abstemious and the little bottle of champagne 
 which had truly seemed nothing to Delia, accustomed to 
 men of different habits, was sufficient, in his state of mind 
 and on an empty stomach, to make him see facts with a 
 sort of emotional unreality. He was not in the very least 
 intoxicated hewas not even excited but the wine had 
 loosened his tongue, and he undoubtedly thought and 
 felt and spoke differently from what he would have done 
 had he taken cold water. The fact that Delia never 
 thought this possible after a couple of tumblers of cham- 
 pagne and soda-water mixed with strawberry juice, gave 
 his words all the weight of sober judgment. 
 
 "Have one of my cigarettes; they are better than, 
 yours," said Delia, smiling. "Beggars always smoke 
 good tobacco. You would be ashamed to see the state 
 of my stockings." 
 
 He looked idly at the slim feet where a white patch 
 undoubtedly could be seen above each shoe-heel, and in- 
 haled the smoke of the excellent cigarette. 
 
 "You're a good pal, Delia!" 
 
 "That's right," she said, and her voice was devoid of 
 any question. 
 
 So he felt impelled to continue : "I was feeling beastly 
 when I came in here." 
 
 ' ' Glad you came, then ... if you feel any better now, ' ' 
 she answered. 
 
 "I do." He paused. "I'd had a nasty knock." 
 
 "It is horrid . . . saying good-bye. I suppose the 
 'fare-thee-well-and-if-for-eyer' note was very strong at the 
 tennis club this evening ? ' '
 
 THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM 231 
 
 He looked down, kicking the fender. 
 
 "It was not that. I'm not the sort to make a howl 
 about turning out into the world, I hope. I'm rather 
 glad to have the chance, in fact, for the one drawback 
 to Southwater's post was that I should be in a very nar- 
 row sphere." 
 
 "All work worth doing has to be done in a narrow 
 sphere ' if it goes on long enough. Concentration auto- 
 matically makes the sphere narrow," said Delia, still im- 
 personal. 
 
 "Xo; it was not that," said Unwin, pursuing his own 
 train of thought undistracted by her remark. "Do you 
 think it possible for a person to care for another person 
 and then go round talking injurious scandal about that 
 person?" 
 
 Delia stared at him in genuine surprise. 
 
 "So you're letting that worry you! "Wendlebury gos- 
 sip!" 
 
 Then Unwin saw that he had been on the verge of 
 telling Delia what he never meant to tell any living soul, 
 and he gathered his discretion together with both hands 
 in a sort of panic. 
 
 "Rather idiotic, isn't it?" he said, flushing with a 
 sense of danger only just escaped. 
 
 "I dare say the accident with the car has shaken you 
 up more than you think," said Delia. 
 
 "Yes, yes, that's it, no doubt," he said, thankfully ac- 
 cepting her explanation, for he was comfortable now and 
 did not want to leave the chair and Delia's companion- 
 ship, which seemed to hedge him round with such a pleas- 
 ant sense of repose. 
 
 "You'll like the sea- voyage," said Delia, after they had 
 remained smoking quietly for some minutes. 
 
 "Yes. I wish you were coming too!" 
 
 Then for some quite unexplicable reason Unwin 's 
 glance, which had been careless, became focussed on
 
 232 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Delia's face. It remained there until she felt the colour 
 rising to her forehead. 
 
 "Oh! I've had plenty of sea-voyages," she said at 
 last, thrusting aside, as it were, the evidence of those 
 suddenly flaming cheeks. 
 
 Unwin sat looking at her until the red faded from those 
 high cheek-bones, but it was evident he had ceased to see 
 her; he was entirely engrossed by some discovery within 
 himself. 
 
 "I say, Delia," he broke out, ending the silence; "I 
 didn't know I meant it, but I do. I wish you were com- 
 ing with me!" 
 
 She looked straight at him, flushing again, but speaking 
 quite clearly. 
 
 "What as? Governess? But I'm afraid I am hardly 
 old enough and you are a little too old." 
 
 Now it is a fact that Unwin had simply thought of her 
 as the most delightful comrade in the world, and no de- 
 tails of their wandering out from Wendlebury had pre- 
 sented themselves to his mind, these being blurred in a 
 sort of pleasant mist which caused the desirable thing to 
 seem possible. But her question made him reply, with a 
 sense of diving suddenly off a high pier into deep water 
 
 "There's only one way a man can take a woman, is 
 there, if he has any decency about him?" 
 
 "You mean as nurse?" parried Delia, a little breath- 
 lessly all the same. "But that means your wearing a 
 splint or something of that sort all the time." 
 
 "You know what I mean," said Unwin. "You are 
 the best pal I have in the world. I won't leave you be* 
 hind if you care to come?" 
 
 Delia shook her head. 
 
 "Dear old boy, I'm afraid it wouldn't work." 
 
 Her opposition stiffened his new-made resolve, and he 
 remembered how the red flush grew and faded under her 
 eyes. If she cared for him, she could have him. She was 
 the best sort he had ever seen, and he would like to have
 
 THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM 233 
 
 her with him in a strange country. As for love . . . 
 Well, he had had enough of love to last him his lifetime. 
 
 "Delia," he said, reaching forward and taking her 
 hand, "will you come with me as my wife?" 
 
 She shook her head, leaving her hand in his. 
 
 "No," she said, "you don't love me, Maurice, and I 
 don't love you; not in that way. I I believe I'm a bit 
 in love with you now. You are so young and full of life 
 and go. I don't say I shouldn't enjoy being made love 
 to by you. You see, I'm not a child. ... I'm a woman 
 who has loved. So I don't deceive myself; and I won't' 
 deceive you for for a mess of pottage." 
 
 "You are not doing so," he said. "I am not in love 
 with you either." But even as he said it, a little gust of 
 passion swept over him and he pressed the hand he held. 
 "Only ... I do want you to go with me, Delia." 
 
 At the real feeling in his tone, evanescent though it was, 
 Delia's expression changed. She gazed questioningly into 
 his face. 
 
 "I don't understand you. I thought " she paused. 
 
 "You may resent it or not as you like; I thought you 
 were in love with Pauline Westcott?" 
 
 "Too much of a gossip for my taste, thank you." 
 
 "Then you blame her!" exclaimed Delia: but went on 
 immediately : " No ; you 're wrong then. She would never 
 go round the place scandal-mongering. The thing's in- 
 credible ! ' ' 
 
 "It's true." 
 
 "Who told you? Some old maid or other ..." 
 
 "She did." 
 
 "She did, herself?" 
 
 "Yes," said Unwin. Then a sudden shame came over 
 him. He could not think what had made him tell Delia. 
 "She meant no harm," he said awkwardly. "I am quite 
 sure she meant no harm." 
 
 Delia looked at him. If he still really loved Pauline,
 
 234 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 he could not have betrayed her in such a way. That 
 made a great difference. 
 
 "I don't know what to do," she said slowly. 
 
 "Come," he answered. "We'll have great fun to- 
 gether, Delia." 
 
 She smiled at him, her odd smile which was yet charm- 
 ing. 
 
 "Follow the fun? Eh, Maurice?" she said. "But 
 there must be times in between and and at the end of 
 the fun : when I 'm old and don 't care for fun any longer. 
 Have you thought of those?" 
 
 "I shall be old too," he said. "We'll have gout to- 
 gether but not in Wendlebury." 
 
 "That's just it!" She pounced upon the idea brought 
 forth in those words. "You feel now that you want to 
 get away from Wendlebury and all connected with it for 
 ever. ' ' 
 
 "Well and if I do?" For even as she spoke he was 
 conscious of a desire to put an irrevocable barrier between 
 himself and Pauline. The side of his nature which made 
 him so resent being miserable now spurred him on to end 
 the suspense and worry of the past weeks once and for all. 
 That weaker part of him urged insistently : ' ' Pauline has 
 made you unhappy. Let there be no more Pauline ! ' ' 
 
 "How can we be sure that you will continue to feel 
 about things as you do now?" continued Delia, arguing 
 with herself as well as with him. Then she flung out at 
 him, almost despite her own will: "Oh, it won't do! It 
 won't do!" 
 
 He rose. 
 
 "All right. If you don't want me, leave me. I shall 
 get on somehow." 
 
 She laughed unexpectedly. 
 
 "You tiresome boy! That's just the worst of it. I do 
 want you!" 
 
 He laughed too. There was something refreshing to his 
 jaded spirit in her light change of mood.
 
 235 
 
 "Take me then, old girl," he said. "We'll make a glor- 
 ious trip of it, and if you can't stick the climate you shall 
 come home. Let's be thankful we can be jolly. I believe 
 lots of people can't." 
 
 She stood drumming with her fingers upon the table, 
 glancing aside at Unwin out of her long-shaped eyes with 
 a gleam of malicious amusement. So they stood on either 
 side of the table and arranged for an elopement. And 
 yet had he wooed her after the same fashion as he had 
 wooed Pauline that afternoon between the beech-trees, she 
 would have refused him. She knew well the value of a 
 great love and was too generous to have offered a small 
 price in return for that treasure. 
 
 But she was greatly tempted to do as he asked her. 
 The quiet time at Wendlebury had restored her spent 
 forces and she was again ready for the road the true 
 wanderer. And to have Unwin for her travelling com- 
 rade seemed a very delightful prospect. They two could 
 have such a jolly time of it, while it lasted. . . . 
 
 "While it lasted. 
 
 She drummed on the table with her fingers. 
 
 "Come along, Delia," he said, smiling. 
 
 She looked at him again. He had never seemed so hand- 
 some to her thinking as now when he stood with his 
 young, lithe figure leaning on the table-edge. His light- 
 brown hair was a little disordered and his eyes shone with 
 a certain reckless gaiety which she found irresistible. So 
 be it ; she would come out and play and chance the future 
 whipping ! 
 
 "Very well, Maurice," she said. 
 
 Then he walked round the table and put his arm lightly 
 about her waist. 
 
 ' ' Good girl ! We '11 have lots of fun together. Can you 
 be ready by Wednesday?" 
 
 "At the Registrar's? It will have to be done here." 
 
 "Oh, I didn't mean the wedding. I sail on Wednesday. 
 I I forgot the wedding."
 
 236 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 There was a second's pause, then they both laughed to- 
 gether. Unwin held her closer. 
 
 "By Jove, you are a brick, Delia! Any other girl ..." 
 He paused and kissed her. "We must be married on Mon- 
 day, of course." 
 
 "What will Wendlebury say?" 
 
 ''Nothing that Wendlebury can say will matter to either 
 of us any more, ' ' he answered. ' ' Hey, for the open road ! 
 I'm breathing deeper already, Delia." 
 
 She pondered again, though clasped in his arm. Per- 
 haps it was all for the best ; perhaps he did need the open 
 road to bring out all he was capable of becoming. She 
 gave a deep sigh and cast all care to the winds. 
 
 "All right, then," she said. " The open road be it. But 
 but I'll come with you as a pal, you know, Maurice. 
 I was only joking about the wedding." 
 
 "Were you?" said Unwin. "Then I was not. I 
 wouldn't let any woman ruin her reputation for my pleas- 
 ure, much less one like you, Delia. You understand 
 that?" 
 
 "I do," said Delia. "That's why ..." Then she 
 broke off. "Think; before it is too late! Take a night 
 to think it over!" 
 
 "I won't take a minute to think it over. Do you want 
 to come with me or not?" 
 
 "You know I do," she answered. "But " 
 
 He stood back, laughing at her. 
 
 "But! We're off to a life where there are no buts, 
 Delia." 
 
 She saw him, erect, virile, and gave in at last to a jolly 
 sense of joining those who play as they go along the road 
 of life, catching butterflies, lingering, eating to the full 
 at a hedge of blackberries. It would be such fun to go off 
 on the wander again with a comrade like Unwin. 
 
 Then they heard Miss Walker's key rattling in the door 
 and Delia said quickly 
 
 "You must be off now. Poor Miss Walker, she has been
 
 THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM 237 
 
 so good to me : I won 't worry her just at the last. You 
 must come to-morrow morning and we will arrange every- 
 thing." 
 
 "I'm just going, Miss Walker," said Unwin, taking 
 up his hat. 
 
 "Oh!" said Miss Walker, but her tone implied, "Not 
 before time." Then she noticed the look of excitement 
 and fatigue on his face and her old kindness for him 
 came back. "It's not that I want to turn you out, Mr. 
 Unwin. But it is a little late . . . two ladies living 
 alone ..." 
 
 "Of course. Good-night! Good-night!" and Unwin 
 found himself in the long, dark street near the Bowling 
 Green Inn, where a few yellow gas-lamps twinkled be- 
 neath a moonlit sky. 
 
 The air blew cool from the green fields round Wendle- 
 bury and his head cleared as he walked along. In crossing 
 the market place he again saw the three balls of the pawn- 
 broker catching the moonlight. He stood quite still with 
 his hand to his forehead. Could it be possible that he 
 had asked a woman to marry him who was not Pauline, 
 and thus altered the whole course of his life since seeing 
 those golden balls last? The thing began to seem incred- 
 ible, though he did not regret it. 
 
 He was not the first man by any means who has come 
 out from a heated room into a cool street, to wonder what 
 miracle can have happened to him in there, to make him 
 take a course of action affecting his whole life which he 
 had never contemplated. Nor will he be the last. But 
 for the individual man such is always an uniquely strange 
 moment. The stays and anchors seem all to be rooted up. 
 He feels himself just for that breathing space an atom 
 rushed along by the current. 
 
 But the thing is done, and if he be a man such as Unwin, 
 he immediately and instinctively begins to make the best 
 of it. He is in honour bound to a woman, and at the 
 decent core of him stirs a desire to think that he has
 
 238 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 pursued, captured and gained his desire. His chivalry 
 casts a cloak over the woman he is going to make his wife. 
 So Unwin, muttering rather dizzily to himself: "She's 
 a good sort ... a real, good sort," went on again to his 
 lodgings. Once there, he sat down in his armchair and 
 immediately fell asleep. Hour after hour passed and he 
 still remained in the dead sleep of mental and physical 
 exhaustion. At last dawn came, and he awoke to the day, 
 the promised husband of Delia Lambert. 
 
 Delia spoke to Miss Walker, helped to remove the supper 
 tray and went upstairs to her bedroom. But she had no 
 inclination for sleep. She sat on the edge of her bed star- 
 ing into the semi-darkness made by the candle for Miss 
 Walker had no gas upstairs and she saw during those 
 hours the pageant of her own life go past. Memory can- 
 not hold sensation, so it was only the silent dumb-show 
 of it all that she re-witnessed thus . . . love . . . heart- 
 breaking disillusion . . . fun . . . variety . . . death. 
 . . . She saw them slipping past one after the other be- 
 tween her and the wall-paper. 
 
 Then they ceased; so she saw the wall-paper beyond 
 with its green roses, and the rest of the little dingy room. 
 But it had a charm for her, because she had come here 
 beaten for the first time and had found a haven of ref- 
 uge where she could be quiet until she gained strength 
 to go on with life again. 
 
 She rose, finding herself stiff with the long sitting in 
 one position, and went to the window where she drew up 
 the blind. So she also saw the dawn, and thought of Un- 
 win. The smell of ripe corn and deep pastures and 
 gardens full of roses and lavender and southern- 
 wood made the morning air fragrant as it blew upon 
 her face through the open window. She, too, had under- 
 gone a Wendlebury change into something sweeter than 
 she was before she came. All she might have been, but for 
 the fiery tongues of scandal driving her out into the wil-
 
 THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM 239 
 
 derness in early girlhood, showed in her face as she stood 
 there watching the sun rise over the clustered roofs of the 
 little town. 
 
 She thought of Unwin sleeping and her look grew won- 
 derfully tender. Poor boy ! Poor boy ! They would have 
 such a jolly time together. Then her brow contracted and 
 her glance turned inward as she remembered that pageant 
 of the night. What had she left to give him in return 
 for his youth and kindness? Faithfulness . . . affection 
 . . . that was all he wanted ; that was all he offered her. 
 
 But could she count on herself even for that, in the 
 long run ? She might get dead sick of it all and be driven 
 to take her own way again, because nothing had ever held 
 her fast but love. She had started to be a vagabond too 
 soon. 
 
 The tall spire of the church was now catching the early 
 sunlight. The town lay silent below. A pigeon wheeled 
 against the morning sky. 
 
 Delia thought of the grave beneath the shadow of that 
 spire, and her thoughts of the past night became less ach- 
 ingly vivid but more real. They grew simple, fragrant 
 of the good things of life, like the wind blowing in through 
 the Avindow. 
 
 She knew that though she had already loved twice, her 
 last love was indeed her last. Some fire of womanhood 
 had died within her when Dick Delamere went, and no 
 power on earth could bring it back. She had only so little 
 to offer in return for Unwin 's faithfulness of a lifetime, 
 and she knew that he was of the sort who keeps faith 
 with his wife, whatever the temptation. But how would 
 it be when he fell in love again, as he inevitably would 
 do, and she saw him struggling between his love and his 
 duty to herself? 
 
 Well, the fun would be worth the price. She would 
 follow the fun. 
 
 But even as she quoted Unwin 's words, the thought of
 
 240 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 his gaiety and kindness made her waver again. It was not 
 fair to take all that, and give so little in return. 
 
 Whatever happened, she had always played fair before. 
 . . . She looked out again, hearing faint sounds on the 
 road. The* carts were coming in laden with butter and 
 ggs and flowers for Market Day. The dearness and sim- 
 plicity of the little town seemed to be held up before her, 
 all daily fresh, like a bunch of country flowers. 
 
 A few tears forced themselves through her eyelids and 
 ran down her cheeks. She could not give up the sudden 
 vista of recovered youth and adventure that had opened 
 out before her. It was too hard. No one had any right 
 to expect it. 
 
 But she knew now in her heart that she expected it 
 of herself and must do it. 
 
 The cart lumbered past, piled high with its sweet load, 
 and the rosy-faced countryman whistled as he went. He 
 sounded so free of care. 
 
 It seemed odd to Delia that any one could be so care- 
 free that morning. 
 
 Then she glanced at the clock: so late already? And 
 began to empty her untidy drawers into her box. 
 
 The early morning light shone also on either side of 
 the bedroom blind which screened the connubial felicity of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Chubb. It illuminated first Mr. Chubb 's 
 nose and then Mrs. Chubb 's elbow, and finally twinkled 
 upon the closed eyelids of the recumbent cabman. 
 
 ' ' Gar-r-rh ! ' ' said Mr. Chubb, waking with reluctance. 
 Then he sat up and demanded angrily: "What did you 
 do that for?" 
 
 Mrs. Chubb was alert on the instant, leaning on that 
 red elbow. 
 
 "I didn't do nothing, Chubb." 
 
 "You woke me up. If you hadn't woke me up I 
 shouldn't ha' woke up. I don't wake meself up, do I? 
 Not at this time."
 
 THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM 241 
 
 "Hush!" said Mrs. Chubb. "It's somebody knocking. 
 That's what you heard." 
 
 "Silly woman! Who's to knock at such an' a time? 
 
 I telled you it was " Then he broke off and his \face 
 
 slowly changed. "Somebody is knocking now. But they 
 didn't knock afore, else I should have heard 'em." 
 
 "Who can it be?" said Mrs. Chubb. "Oh, I do hope 
 the house next door isn't afire. They're always that care- 
 less ..." 
 
 "Get up and see," commanded Chubb. 
 
 "Go yourself," retorted Mrs. Chubb yet had an angel 
 told her six months ago that she could so answer back her 
 lord she would have pronounced the thing to be impos- 
 sible. 
 
 ' ' What ! ' ' said Chubb, and he remained a moment silent, 
 the mental blow being so great. "Very well," he said, 
 getting out of bed. ' ' Very well I '11 go ! " 
 
 But Chubb 's "very well," taken with his ready acqui- 
 escence, seemed so bodeful to Mrs. Chubb that she jumped 
 out of bed the other side and quavered forth hastily: "I 
 I'm going, Chubb, of course. It was only my joke." 
 
 "Joke!" said Chubb. "You joking! You'll be setting 
 up as a match for Unwin yet and a bonny pass it'll lead 
 you to, my woman. As it has him. Going out to lions 
 and tigers!" 
 
 "I won't go out to lions and tigers!" muttered Mrs, 
 Chubb tearfully, putting on garments. ' ' Though no doubt 
 you'd be pleased to know me all safely gobbled up so 
 that you and her " 
 
 "Bang! Bang!" went the impatient knuckles on the 
 outer door. 
 
 "Coming!" shouted Mrs. Chubb. 
 
 And the next minute she opened the house door to con- 
 front Delia on the door-step. 
 
 "You!" she gasped, as if Delia were a thought mate- 
 rialised before her, and nothing out of the comfortable, 
 tangible world. "You!"
 
 242 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "I don't wonder you are surprised," said Delia. "But 
 I want Mr. Chubb as a great favour to get up and bring 
 his cab round at once. I shall just have nice time to 
 catch the first train up to town, where I am obliged to 
 go quite unexpectedly." 
 
 "You're going to London?" said Mrs. Chubb, peering 
 into Delia's face, which looked very lined and haggard 
 in the morning light. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Are you coming back again to Wendlebury ? " 
 
 Delia hesitated, then she said with decision: "No." 
 
 "Not never?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 Mrs. Chubb turned round from the door and shouted 
 up the stairs : ' ' Come down ! Get the cab out. Miss Lam- 
 bert wants to go to London for ever." 
 
 There was a thud that shook the house as Chubb jumped 
 out of bed. 
 
 "The early train? All right. Plenty of time," he 
 shouted back. 
 
 "Your husband is always so obliging," said Delia, 
 smiling kindly at Mrs. Chubb, though she looked ab- 
 stracted and anxious. ' ' I knew he would not mind. Good- 
 bye!" 
 
 Mrs. Chubb opened her mouth, shut it, opened it again, 
 and said: "Good-bye. I I hope you'll enjoy London!" 
 
 Then she ran upstairs, and was so eager to help her 
 husband in his toilette that he bellowed at last with ex- 
 cusable anger 
 
 "Blast it! Can't you leave a man to button his own 
 braces?" and so drove her from the room. 
 
 But she hummed a tune in the kitchen as she boiled 
 the kettle and cut the bread and butter, and the burden 
 of her song was this 
 
 ' ' Folks-that-lives-in-London-town 
 ' ' Can 't-nypnotize-no-more. ' '
 
 THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM 243 
 
 She spread her butter to that rhythm, and her face 
 shone so pleasantly joyful over the clean table that even 
 Chubb noticed it. 
 
 ' ' Come, owd lass ! " he said. ' ' Give us a kiss. There's a 
 many worse." 
 
 Mrs. Chubb kissed him with butter on her lips, for she 
 had been tasting, but with tears of joy in her eyes. Her 
 Chubby would soon be all her own again. Already the 
 spell had lifted. 
 
 If Chubb could have seen into her mind as he swallowed 
 his tea, he would have thought her mad; and, indeed, the 
 fancies of a jealous woman are no less extravagant and 
 unfounded than the delusions of madness.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 PAEEWELL ! 
 
 UNWIN stood before the door of Delia's lodgings and 
 stared at Miss Walker, who blinked nervously at him 
 from the shadow of the little passage. 
 
 ' ' Gone ! " he said. ' ' That is impossible ! ' ' 
 
 "You may come in and see for yourself," retorted Miss 
 Walker. "I'm as surprised as you are. She went out 
 early this morning and when she came back she paid me 
 up, and there was Chubb 's cab at the door. You could 
 have knocked me down with a feather ! ' ' 
 
 "But she must have left some address?" 
 
 Miss Walker shook her head. 
 
 "You can't call London an address. She only said she 
 was going to London." 
 
 "But did you not ask her for one in case of letters 
 coming?" demanded Unwin. 
 
 "I did. And she said she never knew where she might 
 be." Miss Walker blinked still more, but with emotion 
 this time, and a tear ran down her face. "I feel it, Mr. 
 Unwin. I do, indeed. Her and me have been friends, 
 in a manner of speaking; and now for her to go off like 
 this into the wide world as you may say, and no hopes of 
 seeing her again." 
 
 "She may return," said Unwin. 
 
 "No. I said, 'When shall we see you again?' and she 
 said, 'I am not coming back to Wendlebury, Miss Walker. 
 This is good-bye!' Then she kissed me, but never a tear 
 she shed. Her eyes were as dry and bright as anything. 
 Still, I do think she felt it too, Mr. Unwin/' 
 
 244
 
 FAREWELL ! 245 
 
 "I can't believe it," muttered Unwin, looking down at 
 the pavement. 
 
 "Nor I couldn't," said Miss "Walker, voluble in her 
 agitation. "But there it is! I suppose with the fortune- 
 telling and all that, she is one of the wandering sort 
 blowing where she listeth, if you'll forgive me quoting 
 Scripture, not meaning any irreverence. And no doubt 
 she suddenly got the fit on her. She had to go." 
 
 "Perhaps that was it," said Unwin, after a pause. 
 
 "Never mind!" said Miss Walker. "But you are off 
 to foreign parts yourself, Mr. Unwin, so you and Miss 
 Lambert Avouldn 't have seen much more of each other any- 
 way. " Then she glanced towards the untidy sitting-room 
 and added briskly: "Well! I must just get Mrs. Chubb to 
 come round and clean me up while I am out working to- 
 day. Somebody else may be coming to look at the lodg- 
 ings. I must stand a bucket or two of water about to 
 take off the smell of her cigarettes." 
 
 Thus was Delia set outside the life of the little place, 
 definitely, as if a deed of banishment had been read over 
 her. As Unwin turned from the door after making his 
 farewell, he saw the narrow, pellucid, chattering stream of 
 existence, so like the beck behind Wendlebury market 
 place, already flowing over the spot where Delia had been. 
 
 At first he was only conscious of a feeling of blankness. 
 Why had she gone like that? He simply could not under- 
 stand it. 
 
 Then anger began to stir. She had treated him abom- 
 inably. Now that she was gone and he could not marry 
 her, he experienced a bitter sense of frustration. He felt 
 for the moment that he ardently desired the marriage now 
 it was placed beyond his reach. 
 
 But even as he turned into the market square a blessed 
 sense of relief began to creep Over him. The registrar's 
 office was there, facing him, and all that it implied. He 
 felt his heart give a great thud against his ribs, like that 
 of a man who has narrowly escaped a great danger.
 
 246 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Then the Vicar came by, hurrying to matins. 
 
 "Sorry to lose you, Unwin. Off next week, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes." Suddenly Unwin made a determination. "No. 
 That is, I find I have to go to-day instead." 
 
 "Ah! Always things you want in London at the last 
 moment. Don't forget a solar tope, and insect powder. 
 Hope to see you back well and hearty before long. Good- 
 bye!" 
 
 So the Vicar bustled along full of his own business, and 
 Unwin looked at the time. Yes, his heavy baggage was 
 all gone; by using the telephone and working hard, lie 
 could be ready to take the three o'clock train. 
 
 But behind all the farewells and the thousand small pre- 
 occupations of that day, one thought urged like a gnawing 
 toothache at the back of his mind he was going away 
 without seeing Pauline. He had done with women, and 
 was indeed now shaking the dust of the female kingdom 
 off his feet for ever but he was going away without see- 
 ing Pauline. 
 
 At last Chubb 's cab stood at the door and it was time 
 to go. 
 
 Pauline sat by Aunt Dickson mending stockings with 
 her pale, pointed face and shadowy hair she sat running 
 the threads in and out, more like a will-o '-the-wisp trained 
 to domestic duties than ever. Her soul had retained from 
 childhood the power of going long secret journeys even 
 while she was working or talking, and perhaps this was 
 one reason for her not aloofness but some quality which 
 has no equivalent in words. Those to whom such people 
 speak have a subtle knowledge that the speaker is on such 
 a journey, though there is no indication of it, and they do 
 not know they know. Perhaps a rush of coolness in the 
 mental air. . . . Thus Aunt Dickson felt at times a little 
 repelled by Pauline, though loving her so much. 
 
 It was a relief to-day, for instance, when a tinkle of 
 china announced that Eva had returned from an errand
 
 FAREWELL ! 247 
 
 and was bringing in the tea. An onrush of warm, human 
 thoughts came with her. Pauline rose and put a little 
 table near Aunt Dickson, giving her a caress as if uncon- 
 sciously asking forgiveness for having left her alone so 
 long. 
 
 Aunt Dickson looked up with a wistful smile on her 
 big red face. What should she do when Pauline went? 
 And yet, of course, she would marry and go away some 
 time. She thought it strange that the affair with Unwin 
 had altogether stopped, and a delicacy of feeling rare in 
 elderly people's dealings with the young prevented her 
 from asking a direct question, while Pauline evaded indi- 
 rect remarks on the subject. But here Eva, the outsider 
 as so often happens plunged carelessly into the midst of 
 the hidden thoughts of both. 
 
 "I've just seen Mr. Unwin," she began excitedly. "I 
 was at the fish shop when he drove in Chubb 's cab across 
 the square. People were calling out 'Good-luck' to him, 
 and he was waving back at them it was a fair treat like 
 a circus going round or something. It only wanted him 
 to be throwing out little handbills. But he waved and 
 shouted a good 'un, so he did!" 
 
 "Then he did not seem to mind-leaving Wendlebury?" 
 said Aunt Dickson. 
 
 "Not a bit of it," replied Eva; "he was off on the jolly 
 jaunt, he was! And I for one don't blame him. A young 
 man wants to see a bit o' life. I shall ever remember when 
 I cried at coming into placing at Wendlebury I was only 
 twelve and my mother says to me, 'Eva,' she says, 'some 
 sticks to one fowl-run till it goes sour, but not us Martins. 
 Stop hollering at once, pack your box.' So I did. And I 
 haven't never regretted it. I dessay Mr. Unwin won't 
 neither." 
 
 "I hope not; I'm sure I hope not," said Aunt Dickson, 
 conscious of Pauline's silence. 
 
 "Oh, and there's another bit of news," said Eva. 
 "Miss Lambert's gone too!"
 
 248 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "Miss Lambert! You don't mean they have gone to- 
 gether?" cried Aunt Dickson. 
 
 There was a pause as Eva put a cake on the table. And 
 into that pause clashed the sudden breaking of the cup 
 which Pauline held. Her tense grasp of it had broken the 
 delicate china. 
 
 ' ' Oh, lor ! Let me pick up the bits. Accidents will hap- 
 pen, Miss," said Eva. 
 
 "Did they go together?" said Pauline. 
 
 "No. She went by the first train this morning. I met 
 Mrs. Chubb and she told me Miss Lambert knocked them 
 up before six for a cab. But both him and her went to 
 London. There wouldn't be no law against their meeting 
 in London, of course," concluded Eva, retiring. 
 
 "Thousands of people go to London every day who 
 never meet there," said Aunt Dickson, as the door closed. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Pauline, and she began to speak of a 
 knitting pattern which Aunt Dickson wished her to find. 
 But behind the quiet desultory talk an unspoken conver- 
 sation went on in which both took part without knowing 
 it. Aunt Dickson saying more beautifully than any words 
 could do, how dear Pauline was, and how she would be 
 always loved best and always welcome here, whatever the 
 world might do to her. While Pauline replied in the same 
 way that she knew, and was comforted, so long as the un- 
 spoken words did not translate themselves into language. 
 
 But aloud she only said 
 
 "I think I'll go out for a walk now. I have been in all 
 day." 
 
 And Aunt Dickson answered 
 
 "Do; you want some exercise." 
 
 But that unspoken conversation with Aunt Dickson was 
 one which Pauline always remembered very tenderly; 
 more tenderly as the years went on, and she knew how 
 hard it is for experience to keep silence in the face of un- 
 tried youth. 
 
 At this time, however, she was only conscious of a sense
 
 FAREWELL ! 249 
 
 of intense relief as she ran down the clean steps of the 
 little house, leaving it all behind her. And as she tramped 
 along the Ryeford Road, seeing the dissipated scarecrow 
 breast-high in the ripe corn, she thought and feared and 
 wondered until her tired brain refused to conjecture any 
 longer. One fact at least was plain: Unwin had gpne 
 away without saying good-bye or trying to see her. He 
 could not have done that if he had not quite finished 
 with her. She had nothing to hope for now. No more 
 listening for the bell or watching from the window. Only 
 a dead certainty that she must live her life as best she 
 might without him. 
 
 And in saying that to herself, she realised that in spite 
 of assuming despair she had really always kept full of 
 hope. 
 
 Next morning, being Sunday, Pauline stood in the win- 
 dow buttoning her gloves. 
 
 ' ' It looks rather like rain, ' ' said Aunt Dickson, glancing 
 at Pauline's slim figure in the filmy grey gown. "I don't 
 think I should go to church if I were you!" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I think it will keep off until I get back," said 
 Pauline. 
 
 But both knew that it was one of Wendlebury's rare 
 days of absolutely settled dry weather, and that Aunt 
 Dickson was advising Pauline to spare herself an ordeal. 
 
 "Well, good-bye," said Pauline, hastily breaking one 
 of those pauses in which unspoken things grow too loud. 
 "Don't I look a swell in my new frock?" 
 
 "It suits you down to the ground," said Aunt Dickson 
 cheerily. "Good-bye, dear." 
 
 So the door banged and she was left alone by the win- 
 dow, while the bells rang out, as always on Sunday morn- 
 ing 
 
 "Come, you Wendlebury people, 
 Come and pray beneath your steeple."
 
 250 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Then, changing the chime 
 
 "Come Wen bur peo 
 
 you die y pie, 
 "Come and pray be-neath your steeple!" 
 
 And lastly 
 
 "Come! Come! Come!" 
 
 Aunt Dickson listened to it all through the open win- 
 dow, and watched the churchgoers hurrying past. She 
 smiled at one, waved to another, and at last the street was 
 empty. 
 
 She took up the prayer-book and began to read the 
 service; no doubt finding in it that which could soothe 
 and console her active spirit as she sat there, bound by 
 her infirmities. 
 
 The service was over, and the congregation emerged into 
 the pleasant flowery greenness of the churchyard. A 
 group formed beside the path consisting of several Wen- 
 dlebury ladies who were well acquainted. They wore 
 turned silks and pale alpacas that had done duty for many 
 summers, but each gown somehow possessed a delicate 
 freshness which seemed to be unfading, like the scent of 
 lavender. Mrs. Delamere and Pauline alone wore dresses 
 new that year, but Mrs. Delamere 's gloves were less fresh 
 than Miss Harriet's, and Pauline's silk stockings were not 
 so fine as Miss Amelia's often mended summer Sunday 
 ones, which had belonged to her mother. Mrs. Carter 
 wore the purple cashmere that all affectionately remem- 
 bered, while the Vicar's wife had brought forth again the 
 silk which she bought for her sister's wedding the sister 
 who now possessed a baby able to read. 
 
 On the whole there was something very charming about 
 the group delicate skins, clear, faded eyes as if the
 
 FAREWELL! 251 
 
 ladies themselves had been put by very carefully in silver 
 paper. And Pauline harmonised with them well enough, 
 but Mary Carter, coming briskly up the path, seemed a 
 thought too new and strongly coloured. There was a pleas- 
 ant murmur of greetings. 
 
 ''So glad to see you out again, Miss Harriet." 
 
 ' ' Yes, delightful weather ! Mr. Unwin will have a calm 
 passage." 
 
 "Oh, he does not actually sail until Wednesday." 
 
 So they spoke together in little short phrases, preening 
 themselves in the sunshine. 
 
 Then Miss Argle said, speaking with clear precision 
 
 "I hope Mr. Unwin will do well. A nice young fellow, 
 but better away from Wendlebury." 
 
 "Why?" demanded Mary Carter abruptly. 
 
 "Oh, a new beginning . . . always a good thing," said 
 Miss Argle, rather taken aback. 
 
 "He hadn't done anything wrong," said Mary. 
 
 "No," agreed Miss Argle apologetically; "but I am 
 afraid his money affairs must have been . . . My people 
 found a pawn ticket when they picked him up. The mo- 
 tor accident, you know?" 
 
 "Then they ought to have kept it to themselves," an- 
 nounced Mary Carter. "Least they could do after knock- 
 ing him down was to keep silence about what he had in 
 his pockets." She turned to Pauline. "Don't you think 
 so, Pauline?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Pauline, unable to say more. 
 
 "I am sure my relatives are most scrupulously honour- 
 able," said Miss Argle, turning very red. "They never 
 meant it to go any further . . . they would never dream 
 ... I was only showing what a good thing it was that 
 young Unwin had left Wendlebury." 
 
 "Only fancy!" said Miss Harriet in her deep tones, 
 "Reduced to pawning his wardrobe! I fear he must have 
 led a sad life before being brought to such straits! How 
 little one knows of what is taking place even within the
 
 252 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 narrow radius of one's own social circle. What's that!" 
 For a strange little noise, something resembling the sneeze 
 of a cat, had come from the billowy mass of grey and 
 lavender of which Miss Amelia was the centre. 
 
 "Has Mrs. Delamere's Midge escaped and come to meet 
 her?" said the Vicar's wife, stepping quickly aside, for 
 every one hated and feared that pampered canine morsel. 
 
 Then the noise came again and it was plainly human. 
 
 "Amelia!" thundered Miss Harriet. 
 
 "It " Poor Miss Amelia choked and then went on, 
 
 turning tragic eyes from one to the other of those as- 
 tounded faces, "It was my pawn ticket!" 
 
 "Yours!" gasped Miss Harriet. 
 
 "I got Mr. Unwin to pawn some jewelry for me. I was 
 short of money when you were ill. I didn't want to worry 
 you," faltered Miss Amelia. 
 
 "And you could think of no better solution than such 
 a one as this," said Miss Harriet, also in her way tragic. 
 "Amelia, I thank heaven our father is not alive to see this 
 day " 
 
 "Oh, I know," said Miss Amelia, wringing her hands 
 in the cleaned lavender-coloured gloves and weeping bit- 
 terly. "I know I have brought disgrace on the family." 
 
 ' ' I wish my tongue had been cut out ! ' ' said Miss Argle, 
 also weeping. 
 
 Then Pauline stepped forward and put a sheltering arm 
 round the poor trembling Miss Amelia. 
 
 "There is nothing to cry about," she said gently. 
 "Why, it was just the most sensible thing you could have 
 done. We should all have done the same if we had only 
 had pluck and initiative enough to think of it. ' ' 
 
 "No, no. Don't say that! Don't let my example lead 
 you astray. That would be worse than anything," cried 
 the poor trembling lady. 
 
 "I won't pawn anything unless I am positively obliged, 
 and then I shall feel I have done right," said Pauline. 
 
 "Thank you, dear," said Miss Amelia, but she reflected
 
 FAREWELL ! 253 
 
 with a wistful regret that the dear girl's commercial 
 career had blunted the delicacy of her perceptions in such 
 matters. 
 
 There was a pause, and all the ladies looked towards 
 Mrs. Delamere; but defiantly, as it were, daring her to 
 pronounce judgment against Miss Amelia. 
 
 She responded by soaring high above Wendlebury. 
 
 ' ' Dear Miss Amelia, how quaint of you ! I really must 
 tell my brother-in-law, Lord Southwater, when I next stay 
 with him," and she flashed her teeth upon the agitated 
 group. 
 
 But at this the worm turned. Miss Amelia had torn up 
 something within herself by the roots in order to make 
 that confession, and she was not going to be called 
 "quaint" as she stood bleeding there. 
 
 "I thought your one annual visit to Lord Southwater 
 had already taken place," she said, trembling very much 
 indeed. "Perhaps next year you may have something 
 more interesting to talk about." 
 
 The shaft went home. Mrs. Delamere could not say 
 definitely that she had the run of Southwater Park all the 
 year round. But the honours of war remained with her 
 as she replied with great 1 dignity 
 
 "No. No. We always like to talk of the little happen- 
 ings here. I assure you that we both take the greatest 
 possible interest in Wendlebury." 
 
 Then she turned to Miss Argle, who was murmuring 
 apologies, and mopping her eyes, and behaving generally 
 in a manner quite unbecoming a descendant of the ruth- 
 less Argles of Argle Towers, and she towed that distressed 
 member of the aristocracy swiftly away with her down 
 the churchyard path. 
 
 "Come home, Amelia," commanded Miss Harriet. 
 
 But the tone in which she said it caused Mary Carter, 
 who was already filled with indignant sympathy, to state 
 with crude abruptness
 
 254 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "She shan't go home with you unless you promise not 
 to bully her. So now!" 
 
 "Mary!" pleaded her mother. 
 
 "My dear!" murmured Miss Amelia, grateful but 
 deeply shocked. 
 
 "I don't care!" said Mary; "I can see it in her eye 
 she is going to bully Miss Amelia. And I won 't have it ! " 
 
 "Mary! Mary!" pleaded Mrs. Carter, trembling like 
 a pink-and-white blancmange under her purple gown. 
 "She does not mean to be disrespectful, Miss Harriet. It 
 is only that she is so fond of Miss Amelia." 
 
 But here Miss Amelia withdrew herself a little and 
 faced them all, saying surprisingly, but with intense ear- 
 'nestness 
 
 "Now I have had time to think, I never was so relieved 
 in my life. I feel as if I were just coming away from the 
 dentist after having a double tooth extracted ; I do indeed. 
 Every time Harriet looked at me, I quivered in a way I 
 can never describe, as if my outside remained stationary 
 while my internal arrangements changed places, if you 
 know what I mean ? ' ' 
 
 "I do not," said Miss Harriet. 
 
 "But it was very kind of Mr. Unwin," maintained Miss 
 Amelia. 
 
 "Kind!" trumpeted Miss Harriet. "Do you think my 
 sister would ever have attempted such an escapade with- 
 out his connivance? It is well that he has sailed for a 
 shore where, I gather, the temptations of a gay town like 
 "Wendlebury are absent. I like young Unwin, but that is 
 my opinion." Then she turned to Miss Amelia: "Let us 
 go home to luncheon." 
 
 So the little group moved away through the now empty 
 churchyard, Miss Amelia murmuring obstinately that it 
 was all her own idea, and that Unwin had behaved most 
 nobly, and that Harriet could say what she liked. As 
 they passed the yew hedge near the grave of the stranger 
 who had died at the Dragon at Ryeford, the Vicar's wife
 
 FAREWELL ! 255 
 
 endeavoured to clear the mental atmosphere by saying 
 brightly 
 
 ' ' See ! Some one has been putting flowers on the stran- 
 ger 's grave. I wonder who it can be!" 
 
 "Perhaps the landlady of the Dragon," suggested Mrs. 
 Carter, to whom her husband never told his professional 
 secrets. 
 
 "They are ordinary market flowers," said Pauline. 
 
 And the ladies stood still again for a moment in the 
 sunshine, looking at the bunch of country flowers which 
 Delia had bought the day before with the dew still on 
 them, as she hurried through the little town to order 
 Chubb 's cab. The dew had all dried off now and they 
 had faded, but they still made a patch of colour and 
 sweetness. 
 
 "I expect it must be the landlady," repeated Mrs. Car- 
 ter, breaking that little silence, and they walked on again 
 talking together. But Pauline said nothing because she 
 was feeling so vividly what this stranger's death had 
 meant in her life. The whole scene on that morning out- 
 side the Dragon Inn rose before her eyes with extraordi- 
 nary clearness. It was almost like a vision appearing be- 
 tween her and the faded roses and stocks and southern- 
 wood on the grave, leaving them visible without destroy- 
 ing the delicate clearness of that morning scene . . . the 
 pale light on the road . . . Unwin's young figure in even- 
 ing dress against the doorpost. 
 
 Then Mary Carter was speaking 
 
 "Perhaps Mr. Unwin put the flowers there. He used 
 to visit the poor man." 
 
 "Oh, he would be too busy," said the Vicar's wife de- 
 cidedly. 
 
 So, still wondering, they tripped along the Sunday 
 streets, going one by one into the straight-fronted houses 
 where tables were spread with fine, beautifully mended 
 damask. Soon tiny joints on blue china dishes made their 
 appearance, followed by such sweets as canary pudding
 
 256 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 and cup custard, whose very names seemed redolent of the 
 rich meadows about Wendlebury. 
 
 Such a story as that of Miss Amelia and the pawn- 
 broker's shop, however, long outlived any vague surmises 
 about an unknown grave, and it finally reached the august 
 ears of Lord Southwater through those very Argles of 
 Argle Towers who had picked up TJnwin and found the 
 pawn ticket. For a moment that excellent peer felt 
 slightly worried, feeling that he had done Unwin some 
 little injustice. But he soon reasoned himself into the 
 comfortable conviction that this visit of Unwin 's to the 
 pawnbroker on Miss Amelia's business was neither the 
 first nor last. He saw that he had been right, as usual, 
 in condemning the young man who stepped from under 
 the three balls with such a jaunty, accustomed air. He 
 could not, without greater cause, convict himself of in- 
 justice.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 WINTER-TIME 
 
 IT was "Wednesday night, and Pauline stood in the 
 kitchen heating some milk. Eva, returning from her 
 night out, hurst through the doorway with an indignant 
 
 "So that's over!" 
 
 Pauline started, the words fitting in so marvellously with 
 her own thoughts at that moment. For she had heen 
 experiencing during the past three days such a torture of 
 suspense every time a postman went down the street or 
 a telegraph hoy bicycled past, that the present certainty 
 of Unwin having sailed without a word or sign of fare- 
 well seemed almost like happiness. All who have experi- 
 enced intolerable suspense for any cause know that strange 
 happy moment when it stops, even though the next mo- 
 ment may plunge them into the very depths of sorrow. 
 
 ' ' If it wasn 't for the looks of the thing, ' ' continued Eva 
 vehemently, "I would never walk out with anybody again. 
 Only if you don't, the other girls thinks you can't. Mark 
 my words, Miss Pauline, there's more girls goes out with 
 young men because, if they don't, they're frightened of 
 having it thought they can't, than anybody would ever 
 dream of. D'you expect / wanted to go gorming about 
 with a bandy-legged chap that couldn 't say ' Bo ' to a goose ? 
 Of course I didn't! But when I had brought myself to 
 it, I nat 'rally boiled with rage to come across him walk- 
 ing arm-in-arm with somebody else." 
 
 ' ' But what a good thing you did not really care ! ' ' said 
 Pauline. 
 
 257
 
 258 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "Oh, yes," replied Eva, rapidly regaining her compo- 
 sure. "It was only just for the minute, as you may say, 
 and because the girl was that little fat lump of a general 
 from across the street that always has holes in her stock- 
 ing-feet. I didn't like being cut out by her. But what is 
 to be, will be. Some knows how to draw the men on and 
 some doesn't. There's that Miss Lambert now her as 
 went off with Mr. Unwin she had the sort of 'Come-on- 
 lad' way with her that makes a man think he's doing all 
 the coming. It's a thing you can't get; you must be born 
 with it, and after all you and me has plenty else to be 
 thankful for, Miss Pauline." 
 
 "We do not know that Mr. Unwin and Miss Lambert 
 ever even met after they left "Wendlebury, " said Pauline, 
 ignoring the consolatory reflection. 
 
 But she had so often pictured them meeting in every 
 imaginable fashion, during the past three days, that her 
 voice carried no conviction. 
 
 "Oh, he'd be after her," said Eva. "She's one of them 
 like that fat general you don't know why they are, but 
 they are. I shall ever remember a young man that I 
 walked out with once when I was at home on my holi- 
 days. "We used to get to a place every night where there 
 was some gorse bushes all yellow over and smelling beau- 
 tiful with the dew. And he used to stop a minute a fine 
 set-up young feller he was and he'd say every time: 
 'Look at them gorse bushes! When gorse is out o' flower, 
 kissing 's out o' fashion.' Then he'd go on again. But 
 one night I let my cousin as was spending the week-end 
 with us walk on with him while I went to the shop for 
 Mother. I came up with 'em just at the corner where the 
 gorse bushes was. I never meant to be sly nor nothing, 
 but my feet made no noise on the grass, and I was behind ; 
 so I heard him say just as usual: 'When gorse is out o' 
 flower, kissing 's out o' fashion.' I must own I didn't 
 much like him saying it to her, too, so I stopped still a
 
 WINTER-TIME 259 
 
 bit, waiting for him to walk on as he always did." Eva 
 paused, and added solemnly: "Miss Pauline, he didn't 
 walk on." 
 
 ' ' Um, ' ' said Pauline, vaguely, going towards the door. 
 
 "He started to, but he eatched sight of her standing 
 still and hanging her head down the puss! Not that I 
 blame her," added Eva generously, "for I should, my- 
 self, if I 'd ha ' thought of it and known how it would act. 
 I liked that young feller. Well, she just hung her head 
 down, and twiddled her pocket-handkerchief, and said, as 
 if she couldn't bring it out, she was so shy: 'Gorse is i' 
 flower now, Mr. Peters.' His name being Peters." She 
 paused. 
 
 "Well?" said Pauline. 
 
 "Oh!" said Eva, clashing the kettle upon the stone. 
 ' ' What do you think ! They was kissing each other before 
 I could get round the next bush, of course." 
 
 ' ' He was not worth having, ' ' responded Pauline ; ' ' and 
 she was a minx." 
 
 "I wouldn't go for to say that," replied Eva philo- 
 sophically. "It's just that I wasn't one of them she was 
 and there you have it ! " 
 
 Pauline again took up the cup of milk and left the 
 kitchen, but the moment of comparative happiness was 
 already over. During the past three days every other 
 feeling had remained in abeyance as she waited, but now 
 that it was of no use waiting any longer, she began to 
 see a future which Unwin and Delia Lambert would share 
 together while she remained outside. Something more 
 than accident must have caused Delia to go to London 
 on the same day as Unwin, after so many weeks in Wen- 
 dlebury, and something more than the mere pleasure of 
 meeting, otherwise she would scarcely have rushed off in 
 that fashion never to return. There was every evidence 
 of a break-up of old conditions and a fresh start to- 
 gether. That was how Pauline felt forced to think of 
 them now, so that even her thoughts of Unwin were
 
 260 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 spoiled, which is the last affliction of love. It seemed to 
 her as she went down the passage to the sitting-room, that 
 she would have been happy in picturing him alone. 
 
 But the next morning, w T hen the letters came, she found 
 by the blankness of her disappointment that she had after 
 all continued to hope without knowing it, and that though 
 she seemed to have done with suspense it still troubled 
 her. As she went along the street to the fishmonger's in 
 order to inspect the silver and pink of the late salmon lest 
 Aunt Dickson should be disappointed, Pauline imagined 
 she was making herself think about the morning's shop- 
 ping, and the prospect of rain, and the soft pleasantness 
 of the moist air. And that same self-deceiving frame of 
 mind caused her to accept the ridiculous excuse that she 
 must turn down a certain street, and go to a certain shop, 
 because the old watercress man sometimes came that way 
 into Wendlebury and Aunt Dickson liked watercress. 
 
 Even when she entered the little shop and stood choos- 
 ing hairpins, she still managed to impose upon herself this 
 belief. But when the middle-aged spinster behind the 
 counter said feelingly: "Those with the notch are best. 
 Dear! Dear! You'll know what a loss we've had, Miss 
 Westcott!" she blushed at her own want of candour with 
 herself and owned that she had come here to catch if 
 possible a stray word about Unwin. 
 
 ' ' Mr. Unwin lodged with you a long time, did he not ? ' ' 
 she said, pulling a hairpin out of a packet with her eyes 
 fixed on the "notch." "You must miss him always so 
 cheerful ' ' 
 
 "Miss him!" said the thin spinster, her nose-end flush- 
 ing with emotion until the water stood in her pale eyes. 
 "I give you my word, Miss Westcott, it's like it was when 
 our old cat died that we'd had thirteen years you lis- 
 tened for a mew though you knew no mew wouldn't come 
 and that 's how me and my poor mother that 's ill listens 
 for Mr. Unwin 's click of the door and him whistling on 
 the stairs." She wiped her eyes. "We did used to put
 
 WINTER-TIME 261 
 
 blame on him for not being more serious, but I 've come to 
 think what-you-may-call jolly silliness is as good as them 
 Blue Pills for Bilious Beggars that Mother swears by." 
 Here she began to weep softly, sniffing and dabbing her 
 eyes, and murmuring apologetically: "Please forgive me, 
 Miss Westcott, but seeing you brought it all back so him 
 and you used to be such friends before he got in with that 
 Miss Lambert and with Mother upstairs and the shop to 
 look after, I've got a bit run down." 
 
 Pauline's heart was filled with a sort of touched laugh- 
 ter as she listened the sort of laughter which fills the 
 eyes of people not much given to crying and so these two 
 women, one on either side of the little battered counter, 
 grew nearer to one another in five minutes than seemed 
 at all credible, because of their common love for Unwin. 
 Pauline knew she loved him, but the thin spinster re- 
 mained quite unaware that he stood for all the romance 
 and glamour which she had started out to seek long ago, 
 in a pigtail and a "dress improver." 
 
 "Well!" said Pauline at last, gathering up a number 
 of hairpins in her hand. "I'll take these, please." 
 
 Immediately, these were no longer two souls in secret 
 fellowship glorified by love, but two bodies who wished 
 to obliterate the souls' indiscretions. 
 
 "And that is all to-day, you think?" said the spinster, 
 bustling to wrap up the hairpins. "Quite pleasant for 
 the time of year. Thank you. Good-day I 7 ' 
 
 "Yes, quite delightful. Good-morning," replied Pau- 
 line, and so they parted. 
 
 But as she walked home through the pretty, narrow 
 streets, she was struck afresh, not by their charm but by 
 their narrowness. She felt a sudden over-mastering desire 
 to go away into the open world again, and fight for her 
 own living, and feel the winds of life blowing about her. 
 When she reached her own house with its immaculate steps 
 and shining knocker set in a demure row with the other 
 straight-fronted houses on either side, this feeling became
 
 262 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 so strong that it rushed her on past Aunt Dickson's smile 
 and beckoning hand at the window, until she was out on 
 the Ryeford Road with the scarecrow's fluttering rags 
 abreast of her. 
 
 Then she stood still, staring at the desolate flapping of 
 the ragged coat, at the stick emerging bare and hatless, 
 but without seeing them. Her mind was fixed upon what 
 must be said to Aunt Dickson. 
 
 As she paced slowly back again, the clock chimed the 
 hour as it had done when Delamere came back over half 
 the world to listen, and those chimes seemed to her, as 
 they had done to him, the very essence and spirit of Wen- 
 dlebury and all it stood for. And those very things were 
 what, in her present state of mind, she could not endure. 
 Better any sordid rush of work and struggle and ugly 
 noises than the exquisite little town with its delicate cur- 
 tain of grey rain and its ring of emerald fields. 
 
 She entered the front room so urged by this feeling, 
 and engrossed in her desire to get away, that she did not 
 plan to spare Aunt Dickson; and said without warning 
 
 "Aunt Dickson you've been so very, very good to me 
 but I think it is time I turned out again and began to 
 earn my own living." 
 
 Pauline's tone said more than her words, and the big 
 old woman turned round, startled, her face growing a 
 deep crimson. 
 
 ' ' What 's made you suddenly think that ? Have. I done 
 anything to hurt you?" 
 
 "No, no," said Pauline. "You have never done any- 
 thing but shower kindnesses on me. You know that. It 
 is only " 
 
 "You find it too quiet?" 
 
 "Not that, exactly." 
 
 Aunt Dickson sighed, then forced herself to smile. 
 
 "Don't look so distressed, Pauline. You are young, 
 and it is natural you should want a change. Go, and 
 remember there is always a home here for you to come
 
 WINTER-TIME 263 
 
 back to. Whatever happens, I'm always wanting you. It 
 doesn't make a bad background to life, to know there's 
 somewhere where you are always wanted." 
 
 But suspense and sleepless nights and the sorrow of 
 losing love had reduced Pauline to a state of mind and 
 body in which this kindness of Aunt Dickson's was just 
 more than she could bear. 
 
 "There's no one no one in the world " she fal- 
 tered, struggling for words, and then went hastily out, 
 fearing to upset the invalid by making a scene. 
 
 After she had gone, and there came the final sound of 
 the bedroom door closing, Aunt Dickson put down her 
 knitting and sat quite still for a long time, looking out 
 into the street. The evening news-girl passed and handed 
 the paper in at the window as usual, expectant of the sun- 
 shine which fell across her day when Aunt Dickson ex- 
 changed with her a jolly greeting for that was how peo- 
 ple came to turn their hearts to Aunt Dickson as daisies 
 turn their faces to the sun but to-night she was disap- 
 pointed, and went on her way feeling chilled as if the east 
 wind had suddenly begun to blow and the blue sky were 
 clouded over. 
 
 After a while, however, the big old woman ceased to sit 
 huddled in her chair, gave herself a shake and took hold 
 of the telephone receiver, murmuring briskly: "Pauline 
 is so fond of fried sole. I'll ring up and see if I can get 
 a nice sole for supper." 
 
 Then came the fishmonger's boy whistling to the door, 
 and he had twopence for cycling in such haste, and there 
 was a conversation with Eva, and before you could turn 
 round the little, silent house was full of pleasant, splutter- 
 ing sounds and the chink of china being put to warm, 
 and in the kitchen there was a savoury smell of frying, 
 and the clear fragrance of fresh-cut lemons. 
 
 So when Pauline descended, tired and apprehensive, she 
 found quite a little banquet spread, with Aunt Dickson
 
 264 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 beaming over delicate golden-brown fillets on a blue dish 
 surrounded by green parsley and slices of lemon the very 
 poetry of eating and Maids of Honour all almonds and 
 soft sweetness from the old shop where Unwin and Pauline 
 had once been served with Lovers' Kisses by the sympa- 
 thetic owner. 
 
 The little meal was cheerful enough because Aunt Dick- 
 son belonged to that odd company who find a sort of ex- 
 hilaration for the moment in boldly facing another blow, 
 while Pauline's overstrung nerves lent themselves to such 
 a gay response that by the end of supper Aunt Dickson 
 was genuinely laughing. 
 
 But when Eva came in to clear away she struck a 
 discordant note. 
 
 "Not much eaten, for all the laughing and talking." 
 
 She spoke in a resentful tone, clashing the plates to- 
 gether, and Aunt Dickson felt bound to say reprovingly 
 
 "You are sorry Miss Pauline is going, Eva?" 
 
 "No, I aren't, 'm. She needn't unless she wants to. 
 Us Martins was never ones for sitting down and making 
 a trouble of things as can be mended. We mend 'em, 
 or we don't bother no more about 'em." 
 
 The door banged on Eva's retreating apron strings. 
 
 "Eva seems put out. Poor girl, she is very fond of 
 you," apologised Aunt Dickson. Then she got out her 
 cards and began to play Patience by the fire while Pauline 
 sat doing some Russian translation at the other end of 
 the room. 
 
 For some time neither of them spoke. Every now and 
 then she glanced up to ask if the cards were going well, 
 and Aunt Dickson nodded cheerfully. At last the scratch 
 of the pen ceased and the room was very silent; only the 
 fall of the ashes and the creaking of Aunt Dickson 's black 
 silk as she moved in her chair to place the cards. The 
 clock struck nine, making clear, separate sounds which fell 
 and spread on the quiet like rings in a pool. As the final
 
 WINTER-TIME 265 
 
 number fell, some spring seemed to be released in Pau- 
 line's mind. 
 
 "You have not played Patience for a year," she said. 
 "I wonder what has made you start again?" 
 
 But she knew quite well that Aunt Dickson was thus al- 
 ready arming herself for the long, dull evenings of a lonely 
 winter : and the sight touched her far more deeply than any 
 tears or complaining could have done. 
 
 "Oh!" said Aunt Dickson, "one gets a fancy for dif- 
 ferent things. I started jig-saw puzzles, you know." Then, 
 seeing Pauline's troubled face, she added: "Now, you 
 needn 't look like that, dear ! I am so glad to have had you. 
 It has been such a happy time in my life. But I won't spoil 
 it all by the way I let you go!" She paused. "Old peo- 
 ple have got to bear loneliness just as babies have to bear 
 helplessness. It's just part of life. You start out, such a 
 lot of you together, that you can 't picture ever being alone. 
 Then if you live long enough they all drop off, one by one. 
 You're left. But you go plodding on." 
 
 Pauline gazed at Aunt Dickson 's face, unable to realise 
 that she too would one day be feeling the same if she lived 
 long enough. 
 
 "How brave all old people must be!" she said at 
 last. 
 
 Aunt Dickson shook her head. 
 
 "You forget what's in front of you. You're getting 
 very near home." 
 
 Then silence again, Aunt Dickson moving the cards and 
 Pauline striving to fix her mind on her work. But be- 
 tween her and that new and enchanted country which every 
 fresh language opens to those who have eyes to see, there 
 came the big red face of Aunt Dickson with its expression 
 of mingled bravery and wistfulness. She rose from the 
 table and went and stood with her hand on Aunt Dickson 's 
 shoulder. 
 
 "After all, I should like to stay just until the winter is
 
 266 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 over if you will have me, ' ' she said. ' ' Winter 's a bad time 
 for working women." 
 
 "You want to stay?" Aunt Dickson's veined hands 
 trembled as they moved over the cards, but she spoke 
 quietly, lightly, just as Pauline had done. 
 
 ' ' I 'd love to stay if you '11 have me eating my head off ! " 
 
 They both laughed, not that there was anything to laugh 
 at, but because both were rather inclined to cry, and neither 
 wished to hurt the other by a too great exhibition of feel- 
 ing. It came as a relief when Eva opened the door and 
 said: "Mrs. Chubb 's in the kitchen, 'm. She wants to 
 know if you can do without her next week. Her and 
 Chubb 's going by a cheap trip to London." 
 
 "Mrs. Chubb! Going to London!" cried Aunt Dick- 
 son, shuffling the cards together. "Of course I can do 
 without her. Ask her if she has a handbag. I can lend 
 her a handbag." 
 
 And immediately the prospect of the Chubbs in London 
 the Chubbs seeing St. Paul's the Chubbs going to the 
 waxworks so filled Aunt Dickson's mind with pleasant 
 images that she forgot everything else. She was not pre- 
 vented by Eva's scandalised remonstrances from offering 
 Mrs. Chubb the loan of her best black bonnet and mantle 
 for the occasion. 
 
 "I never wear them," she declared. ""Why shouldn't 
 Mrs. Chubb?" 
 
 "Because she'd get taken up," said Eva tartly. "I hear 
 Londoners aren't as sharp as us Yorkshire folks, but even 
 they could see she 'd got on what didn 't belong to her. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Let me see for myself, ' ' said Aunt Dickson. ' ' Tell Mrs. 
 Chubb to put them on and come in." 
 
 But even she was convinced when the extinguished Mrs. 
 Chubb appeared with her sharp nose-end alone protruding 
 between the feathered mass above and the cloak below 
 and nothing human of her else visible. She was ushered 
 in by Eva who said, between little bursts of cackling laugh- 
 ter: "I don't mean no offence, on'y you'd make a cat
 
 WINTER-TIME 267 
 
 laugh, Mrs. Chubb, you would indeed! Oh, dear! I never 
 knew as a nose-end by itself could look so savage. Do take 
 'em off or you'll be the death o' me!" 
 
 Eventually, of course, Mrs. Chubb took home with her 
 both bonnet and cloak, which were to be altered to her 
 dimensions, and Aunt Dickson went to bed, solacing a long, 
 wakeful night by dreams of the Chubbs doing the thing in 
 style and enjoying themselves tremendously. 
 
 After that nothing seemed to happen in the house for a 
 long time but daylight, and dark, and the succession of 
 meals. Pauline worked at her translation, and walked on 
 the Ryeford Road, and decorated the church for Christmas, 
 and then the New Year was there. But through all the 
 sounds and happenings of every day Pauline listened for 
 some word of Unwin, and she thought bitterly how soon he 
 seemed to be forgotten. People mentioned him now and 
 then, and Miss Amelia wondered tenderly what he was do- 
 ing on Christmas Day, poor boy, but for the rest he seemed 
 to have slipped out of mind. Mary Carter talked of noth- 
 ing but her nursing, and Mrs. Chubb 's sole topic of con- 
 versation was the Chamber of Horrors at Madame Tus- 
 saud's, which had impressed itself on her memory for ever, 
 down to the last button on the most insignificant murderer. 
 
 Then Miss Amelia fluttered in on New Year's Day with 
 a letter from Unwin in her hand and the information that 
 he was engaged on a bar. 
 
 ' ' Nothing to do with the law, I fear, my dear, ' ' she mur- 
 mured, leaning towards Aunt Dickson. ' ' But that is how I 
 put it to Mrs. Delamere just now the bar just changing 
 the article as I have a perfect right to do, and she must 
 just take it or leave it. I have no responsibility in the 
 matter." She sighed. "I fear, however, that, as Harriet 
 says, it is only too like poor Mr. Unwin to pick up unde- 
 sirable connections in a foreign land. It would be so just 
 like him, poor dear, to get a public house to build instead 
 of a nice, respectable bar such as I believe our barristers 
 eat their dinners at when they are in process of training."
 
 268 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "Oh, I believe the public houses are quite palaces out 
 there, ' ' said Pauline, smiling. ' ' I expect he has a very pay- 
 ing job and may consider himself lucky." 
 
 But within herself she said: "So that is what I have 
 brought all his dreams to! I who love him better than 
 any one in the world." For her love had enabled her to 
 take the focus of another person's mind, which is a rare 
 thing. She saw Unwin's failure and success as it appeared 
 to his own soul more definitely far than he was conscious 
 of seeing it and she knew how he had rejoiced to be of 
 the great company that built Rheims Cathedral and York 
 Minster and all those poems in stone which are not the 
 outcome of one mind alone, like poems written in words, 
 but are so much the more dearly human and beautiful for 
 the unknown lives spent on them. Eough comedy in gar- 
 goyle and carving, a soaring loveliness like nothing else 
 made with hands in roof and pillar, every sort of man 
 might put his life poem singly there, and find it again 
 as a part of one tender harmony. Unwin's proper work 
 was to be the keeper of all that, himself so at one with 
 those whose work was done, that he could never make a 
 mistake and she had sent him out to build drinking 
 saloons. 
 
 It would have seemed nothing to some women, but Pau- 
 line knew the value of a dream, and that which she had 
 been the means of destroying was the dream of Unwin's 
 life. 
 
 Perhaps even she did not fully understand what she 
 had done, because only those who have secretly lived for 
 such a dream can know how life changes when it goes. 
 
 A little later or so it seemed, for the monotonous weeks 
 went by so quickly when the first crocuses were showing 
 in the little prim gardens and the ladies of Wendlebury 
 were beginning to think of the spring cleaning, Pauline 
 met Mrs. Carter in the street and heard another piece of 
 news about Unwin. 
 
 ' ' The doctor had a letter yesterday so sad Mr. Unwin
 
 WINTER-TIME 269 
 
 seems to be very ill. The sort of fever they get out there ; 
 nothing serious, of course," she hastened to add, because 
 Pauline was unable to hide the blanching of her lips. ' ' We 
 are all sorry. Such a nice young fellow," babbled the 
 kind-hearted doctor's wife, anxious to seem as if she had 
 not noticed. "No doubt he will soon be all right. What a 
 delightful day ! ' ' And so they parted, Mrs. Carter saying 
 to herself: "Then there was something in it after all!" 
 
 Pauline went on down the street, did her shopping, and 
 returned home, saying nothing about Unwin's illness to 
 any one. She felt she could not bear to discuss it in all its 
 bearings with Aunt Dickson. But before long Miss Argle 
 brought the tidings, and was so distressed that she forgot 
 to take away any cakes, though everything was conven- 
 iently arranged for her raiding with respectability, as 
 usual. 
 
 "That tiresome basket-seller no, fortune-teller I knew 
 it was something itinerant! I wonder if she is with him 
 now?" 
 
 And Pauline could only silently re-echo a question which 
 had been asking itself in her own mind hundreds of times 
 during the past few hours. 
 
 But when Miss Argle had gone, Aunt Dickson sat with 
 her big face puckered into those folds which were her sign 
 of mental disquiet, and she glanced at Pauline as if about 
 to speak, then changed her mind and finally exclaimed 
 
 "I wish I could remember exactly what I said to Miss 
 Argle!" 
 
 Pauline started and looked round from the window 
 where she sat sewing. 
 
 "What you said about what?" 
 
 "Why about Unwin and the Dragon at Ryeford . . . 
 about Unwin drinking. I can't remember. It is so long 
 ago now." 
 
 "Don't worry," said Pauline. "There's no use. We 
 'can't do anything now, you know." 
 
 Aunt Dickson sighed and resumed her knitting: then
 
 270 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 she heard the front door open, and welcomed Eva back 
 from an errand with the sort of pleasure which would seem 
 ridiculous to an outsider who could not know how large the 
 little, thin, long-faced, bright-eyed woman bulked in the 
 life of that quiet household. 
 
 "Well, Eva?" she said, eager like a child for stir and 
 news. 
 
 "Miss Walker can do your bodice. She was just sitting 
 down to her tea. She gave me a cup on with her. She 
 was in low spirits," said Eva, delivering her budget. 
 
 ' ' Has Miss Walker heard any more from that woman 
 the fortune-teller, you know?" said Aunt Dickson. 
 
 "No. That's what she was feeling miserable about, I 
 believe. She thought such a lot of that Miss Lambert, in 
 spite of all. Then off the woman goes, and never a word 
 nor nothing. Miss Walker says she isn't going to get fond 
 of anybody any more. It's no good. They only give you 
 up or go away or something and you have to start all over 
 again with a fresh 'un. She's just going to keep herself 
 to herself and plod on and not bother with friends. ' ' Eva 
 rubbed her nose. "I sometimes think that's best way 
 meself, don't you, Miss Pauline?" 
 
 "Yes," said Pauline sombrely. 
 
 "No!" said Aunt Dickson, rousing herself. "No, Eva, 
 that means your heart's getting old. We must have Miss 
 Walker here to work, and give her hot tea-cakes. ' ' 
 
 "Queer way to mend wounded affection," said Pauline. 
 
 "Rubbish! You can do it with anything from a bite 
 of apple when you're seven, to a kind word when you're 
 seventy. You only provide the medium it's God who 
 does the rest. ' ' 
 
 "Talking of mediums," said Eva in a low tone, "that 
 Miss Lambert left her glass ball behind her that she used 
 to look into when she told fortunes, and Miss Walker didn 't 
 care to have it about you never know so she buried it in 
 the back garden and read the commandments over it. She 
 feels it's all safe now."
 
 WINTER-TIME 2J1 
 
 "But if Miss Lambert ever came back?" said Pauline. 
 
 "She never will come back," said Eva. "Black people 
 
 and black ways is more suited to hei " She broke off, 
 
 pursed up her lips tightly and retired, evidently sharing 
 the opinion of Wendlebury that Delia was with Unwin.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 BAD NEWS 
 
 MRS. DELAMERE and Lord Southwater walked to- 
 gether through Wendlebury market place, and each 
 time they passed a large plate-glass window the lady 
 glanced aside to view with complacence the impressive pic- 
 ture they made: for the estimable peer was that morning 
 at his best, newly come from an important conference where 
 he had represented in his own person the Churchmen of 
 England, and had been patted on the back by Bishops and 
 even Archbishops if such a term could be applied to such 
 approval. 
 
 It was somewhere near the fishmonger's that the august 
 pair met Pauline, and Mrs. Delamere, who was for passing 
 on with the blank graciousness of a royal salute, felt all 
 those former suspicions endured during that horrible half- 
 hour at his lordship 's keyhole return in full force when she 
 saw that gentleman stop short, smile in pleased recognition, 
 and hold out his large white hand to Pauline. 
 
 ' ' How do you do ? This is a lovely day, though dull. I 
 think you know my sister-in-law, Mrs. Delamere?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Mrs. Delamere tepidly: then in an 
 urgent attempt to put Pauline at once in her proper place, 
 she added: "Miss "Westcott looks after an invalid neigh- 
 bour . . . invaluable services . . . excellent home . . . for- 
 tunate thing for both, I am sure. You no doubt remember 
 her face in connection with that affair of Mr. Unwin, the 
 architect. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I remember Miss Westcott without the need of any con- 
 necting link, ' ' said Lord Southwater, with solemn gallantry 
 
 272
 
 BAD NEWS 273 
 
 such regretful gallantry as an elderly widower peer, who 
 does not intend to marry again, may feel for a charming 
 young woman. He wished vaguely that it were possible 
 to have such a young lady in the house as a sort of niece 
 or something, and envied Aunt Dickson; but realising the 
 impossibility of such a course he concluded tamely: "I 
 hope to send some flowers, if I may? An invalid always 
 likes flowers." 
 
 Mrs. Delamere flushed deeply beneath her sallow skin. 
 Flowers ! The old idiot must be mad ! And she hastened to 
 provide a distraction by saying bluntly to Pauline 
 
 "I suppose you know Mr. Unwin is dangerously ill? 
 He was carried on board the ship in a dangerous condition 
 and is not expected to reach home alive. Dr. Carter heard 
 this morning." 
 
 And this time the intervention was successful, for Pau- 
 line faltered out hastily 
 
 "So sorry! Good-morning!" and left the peer and the 
 lady planted before the fishmonger's marble slab. 
 
 But when she came out again into the sunny market 
 place, where, it being Market Day, the stalls were already 
 heaped with bunches of primroses, she did not know where 
 to go or what to do. The intolerable pricking restlessness 
 which is sometimes a part of sorrow drove her out along 
 the Ryeford Road and then back again into the crowds 
 of rosy-faced country people. She could not yet go back 
 to Aunt Dickson, telling her little tale of meeting Lord 
 Southwater. She had no desire to confide in kind Miss 
 Amelia, whom she met and passed by with a light word of 
 greeting. At last something within her, deep down, whis- 
 pered that she wanted hairpins. But the bathos of this was 
 apparent even to herself, and she determined impatiently 
 that hairpins did not matter. How could they, when noth- 
 ing mattered? Still she found herself nearing the little 
 shop, and standing near the shabby counter, and asking 
 the thin spinster for those with a notch in them. Then 
 all at once she acknowledged to herself what had driven
 
 '"274 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 her here. It was the desire to speak with somebody who 
 really loved Unwin the same feeling which makes us all 
 find a deep joy in talking to the most uninteresting person 
 -who has truly loved our beloved dead. 
 
 "I'm afraid we have no hairpins to-day," said the shop- 
 woman in a cautious voice. "Is there anything else?" 
 
 Then a high, querulous voice sounded from up above, and 
 the woman ran through the shop to the bottom of some 
 steep stairs with a hasty: "Excuse me!" and called: 
 ""Yes! Yes!" nervously, in answer to some question un- 
 heard. ' ' Everything she wants ? Oh ! Yes. Black hooks. 
 Size six!" 
 
 Then she came back, very flushed and disturbed, to say 
 in a whisper : ' ' My mother worries about the business. I 
 daren't let her know we are out of hairpins, as she would 
 be so upset. But our stock has not been replenished . . . 
 so much support required for an invalid. . . . Mr. Unwin 
 no longer with us. . . ." Her voice trailed into silence, 
 and a big tear fell on the counter. 
 
 "Please give me six packets of hooks," said Pauline, in 
 a loud tone. Then she added, also in a whisper : "You've 
 heard how ill he is? They had to carry him on board the 
 steamer." 
 
 "Yes. Oh, if he should die! Miss Westcott I can't 
 think of him dead. If you had only seen him, always so 
 full of fun, in that room of ours upstairs. He left some 
 of his books behind. You can come and see them if you 
 like." She wiped her eyes. "Not that they're what you 
 would want to think of him reading if you knew he was 
 nearing his latter end. But I can 't believe we 're meant to 
 live every day as if it were going to be the last, for all the 
 hymn says, can you, Miss Westcott?" 
 
 At this moment, however, another customer came in; so 
 with a hasty: "You go up by yourself. First room on 
 the left, ' ' she turned to face again the little burden of her 
 day.
 
 BAD NEWS 27$ 
 
 ' ' What 's that ? ' ' shrilled the old woman through an open 
 door. 
 
 ''Lady going to look at Mr. Unwin's room," called her 
 daughter from below. 
 
 ' ' What 's the use ? "We can 't take anybody with me like 
 this," grumbled the old woman. 
 
 Then Pauline entered the room and, closing the door 
 very gently, she stood in the middle and looked round. 
 The bookshelf was full of gaily-bound books ; the big chair 
 between the window and the fire still bore the dent made 
 by his head, or so it seemed to her. An old pipe lay on 
 the mantelshelf. 
 
 On the wall was a snapshot of him with a tennis racket 
 in his hand, laughing at some one near. 
 
 She put her head down in the place where his had been, 
 and kissed the shabby leather, all her love and sorrow and 
 desolation sweeping over her in a great flood. 
 
 ' ' Maurice ! Maurice ! ' ' She could not live without him. 
 She could not live without him. 
 
 Then she heard the shopwoman's footstep on the stairs 
 and went to the window, pressing her forehead against 
 the cool pane. 
 
 "It's a nice room, isn't it?" said the anaemic spinster, 
 panting a little. "I keep it dusted every day, however 
 busy I am. I've a silly feeling that he may want it all 
 of a sudden and come back, though I know he never will. 
 But it isn't what you know . . ." 
 
 "No," said Pauline, and they rested on that. "Well,. 
 I must be going. Thank you for letting me come up." 
 
 "There's no need for thanks," said the woman. "The 
 stairs are steep ; mind how you tread. I know you were 
 a friend of his." 
 
 "Good-morning," said Pauline, going out. Then she 
 could not go so, and paused in the doorway. "You were 
 his friend too." 
 
 "Oh, I shouldn't call myself that. I should never have
 
 276 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 called myself that," protested the shop-woman, her nose- 
 end flushing pink with emotion. 
 
 Thus they parted without saying any more ; but a won- 
 derful unspoken conversation had taken place about the 
 sweetness and pain of love. 
 
 During the next two or three weeks Pauline often wished 
 to go back to the little shop, but she dared not some deli- 
 cacy of the soul caused her to feel that what she got there 
 was taken under false pretences, and was somehow an in- 
 jury to the woman who did not know how far she was 
 responsible for Unwin's departure. 
 
 And, indeed, the theory that hell is remorse for having 
 injured those we love on earth, came often into Pauline's 
 mind in those days; and she realised that if this be the 
 case, hell does not wait for us until we are dead. It starts 
 now. 
 
 When Miss Amelia tapped at the window, beckoning 
 Pauline in, and hurried to open the door, murmuring: 
 "Harriet's in there keep calm but I had to let you 
 know," she felt as if cold fingers were squeezing her very 
 vitals for that hell is cold. 
 
 "What is it?" she said. 
 
 Then Miss Harriet appeared in the room doorway, and 
 aid with precision 
 
 "You will no doubt regret to hear that young Mr. Un- 
 win had to be taken off the ship at Teneriffe on his journey 
 home. ' ' 
 
 Pauline's dry lips would not let a sound pass. She 
 moistened them with her tongue and whispered 
 
 "Dead?" 
 
 "No! No!" cried Miss Amelia. "Oh, dear child. . . . 
 No! Only ill." 
 
 ' ' Seriously ill. It is feared he may not recover. A bright 
 young life if somewhat irresponsible," and Miss Harriet 
 turned back into the room. 
 
 "Dear Pauline," whispered Miss Amelia, putting her
 
 BAD NEWS ' 277 
 
 soft old hand on the girl's. "Why, your hand is like ice. 
 Poor child! Poor child!" 
 
 Pauline dragged her hand abruptly away. 
 
 "Don't ! I can't bear it," she said, and hurried out into 
 the street. 
 
 "Have an umbrella. It's raining!" called Miss Amelia 
 anxiously from the doorstep. 
 
 But Pauline was already half-way down the street. After 
 a while, when she heard Miss Amelia's door close, she 
 slackened speed because the iron railings and straight- 
 fronted houses behind the mist of grey rain see^ned to be 
 growing darker and floating away, and she with them. She 
 felt herself going going. Then with a pang of almost un- 
 believable agony she came back and found herself clutching 
 an iron railing, while the red-faced landlady of the Bowl- 
 ing Green Inn, grasping her arm on the other side, said 
 reassuringly 
 
 ' ' There ! There ! It 's the spring. You wouldn 't think 
 it to look at me now, but I was as white as chalk before I 
 was married and I used to go off once a day reg'ler for a 
 time at the change of the year. You want iron, Miss West- 
 cott. Or getting married does it. On'y we can't all get 
 married. ' ' 
 
 "I'm all right now," said Pauline, putting her hat 
 straight. "Thank you so much. The spring is a trying 
 time." And she forced a smile, though the street still 
 seemed dim and unsteady and the landlady rather far off. 
 
 ' ' There 's a lot of sickness about, ' ' pursued the landlady. 
 "Always is in spring. Even our Mary Jane seems all no- 
 how you'll remember our jackdaw, Mary Jane? And 
 then there's poor Mr. Unwin taken ashore somewhere to 
 die, so they say. Ay ; they talk so much about spring, but 
 
 I " She broke off. "Anyway, it's a pity about Mr. 
 
 Unwin. People might say what they liked about him, but 
 I tell you one thing. Miss Westcott; if pulling our Mary 
 Jane and roasting her for him to eat would cure him, I'd 
 do it, and I can 't say no more than that, can I ? "
 
 278 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Then this interview came to a close, but the Vicar, Mrs. 
 Carter, Mary Carter by letter from the London hospital 
 where she was training, Aunt Dickson, Eva, Miss Argle 
 every one, it seemed, who had known him, took occasion 
 to add to the torment which Pauline was enduring. 
 
 The topic overshadowed even the Great Bazaar which 
 was looming ahead, with Lord Southwater to open it and 
 fancy costumes for the stall-holders or, rather, fancy 
 heads, being powdered hair with black velvet hats, a 
 compromise insisted on by Miss Harriet, who declined 
 abruptly to make a mountebank of herself any lower down. 
 And when Pauline passed the open kitchen door on wash- 
 ing morning, she heard Mrs. Chubb say 
 
 ' ' Fever ! It was no fever that young Unwin had. It was 
 that Miss Lambert done him in." 
 
 ' ' Mrs. Chubb ! ' ' exclaimed Eva, aghast. ' ' You 've no call 
 to say a thing like that, even if she is a bad 'un. You 
 could be had up for saying a thing like that." 
 
 "I don't care," said Mrs. Chubb, with a sort of forlorn 
 recklessness. ' ' I know what / know, and you don 't know ! ' ' 
 
 "Easy enough to say that!" remarked Eva, her eyes 
 a-sparkle with curiosity. 
 
 Mrs. Chubb opened and shut her mouth in her fish-like 
 way, hesitated, then closed her lips tightly and said: 
 "That's the last. "Where is them clothes-pegs?" So Eva 
 saw that further questioning would be of no avail and 
 consoled herself with the inward comment: "Silly old 
 owl, she doesn't know nothing. What can she know?"
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE ADVENTURE OF MRS. CHUBB 
 
 IT was morning at the Chubbs ', and the fire burned badly 
 because the sticks were damp. Mr. Chubb growled in 
 his lair above, and Mrs. Chubb started, letting the brush 
 fall. She wore an air of guilt which would have done her 
 no discredit had Mr. Chubb been buried in small pieces 
 beneath the hearthstone. 
 
 Then the growl became fiercer became articulate. 
 "Where's my shaving- water 1 You can't expect the Wen- 
 dlebury ladies to fancy me if I haven't shaved." 
 
 Mrs. Chubb clutched a post-card from the table, thrust it 
 into her blouse and dashed some hot water from the kettle 
 into a large mug ; but she did all as if hunted . . . hunted 
 and yet ready to turn at bay. 
 
 "There!" she said; then she added bitterly: "No fear 
 of the ladies not fancying you you mud safe enough let 
 your beard grow." 
 
 "Well, you needn't cast that up again me," said Chubb, 
 eyeing himself with approval as he soaped. "It's your liv- 
 ing and mine to have the cab go out, isn't it?" Then he 
 turned sharp round. "Whatever do you keep clutching 
 hold of yourself in the front for? I can see you in the 
 glass. Have you got spasms again?" 
 
 "No," faltered Mrs. Chubb, going quite green. "It's 
 on'y a flea . . . them chickens next door," she added 
 hastily. 
 
 Then she went downstairs, locked herself in the wash- 
 house, and taking out the post-card again from her bosom 
 she stared at the legend there inscribed. 
 
 279
 
 280 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "Meet me at five-twenty train to-morrow, Friday D. 
 LAMBERT. ' ' 
 
 No writing on the wall could have been for Mrs. Chubb 
 more fraught with Fate. She saw the letters run together 
 the D grow toppling and tremendous and reason fled 
 from its throne, leaving mad, groundless, purposeless 
 jealousy there instead. 
 
 Chubb should not have that post-card. No matter if he 
 found out afterwards no matter if he killed her for it 
 he should not have that post-card. 
 
 She unlocked the wash-house door with hands that shook 
 so that she could scarcely turn the key, ran across the 
 kitchen and threw the offending missive on the fire back. 
 
 ""What's burning?" sniffed Chubb, for owing to the 
 dull fire the card smouldered. 
 
 " A bit o ' paper. Nothing, ' ' said Mrs. Chubb, tightening 
 her lips. 
 
 Immediately after breakfast she put on her hat and went 
 out. 
 
 ' ' What are you going for ? ' ' 
 
 "Tripe," said Mrs. Chubb, knowing his objections would 
 thus be effectually silenced. 
 
 But she went nowhere near the tripe shop ; half running 
 and half walking, she covered in almost no time the dis- 
 tance between her own house and that of the little dress- 
 maker where Delia had been used to lodge, and hammered 
 so impatiently on the door that Miss Walker emerged red- 
 faced with annoyance, saying, before she could stop her- 
 self: "You tiresome little " Then she broke off. 
 
 "Oh, I thought it was the milk-boy again. He is in such a 
 hurry." 
 
 "So'm I," said Mrs. Chubb grimly, and she gave no 
 further greeting, but marched straight in and sat down 
 because her legs would not support her any longer. 
 
 " Whatever 's up?" naturally demanded Miss Walker. 
 "I do hope that Chubb "
 
 THE ADVENTURE OF MRS. CHUBB 281 
 
 "It's nothing to do with Chubb," interposed his wife 
 and then she could have wept, thinking bitterly how she 
 lied: it had so everything to do with Chubb. "I " she 
 saw suddenly even in her jealous fury that a sane reason 
 must be given "I wanted to ask you to lend me a sleeve 
 pattern and I'm pushed for time." 
 
 "You seem to be," said Miss Walker. However, she 
 fetched the required pattern and gave it to Mrs. Chubb, 
 who remarked in a most curious tone, without thanking her 
 for her trouble, "You're expecting Miss Lambert to-day!" 
 
 " So I am ! ' ' cried Miss Walker, greatly surprised. ' ' But 
 how on earth do you know? She only wrote to me this 
 morning saying she wanted to come. And I might have 
 had twenty people lodging here for all she knew but she 
 was never one to think of a thing like that." 
 
 "I heard by a side-wind," replied Mrs. Chubb. She 
 had known ; and yet the confirmation planted a fresh blow. 
 
 "Wonderful how you do hear things in Wendlebury," 
 said Miss Walker, ushering her visitor out. "Well, it's 
 lucky I 'm not going out to-day. I can get everything nice 
 for her. I suppose you couldn't come in to help for a 
 couple of hours?" 
 
 "No. Very sorry," mumbled Mrs. Chubb, hurrying 
 through the door. 
 
 "Going out somewhere?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 And here Mrs. Chubb felt she was indeed speaking the 
 truth, though how her proposed outing was to take place 
 she could not imagine at present. 
 
 When, however, she reached home and found Chubb at 
 the lane end with the cab, she said to herself that Provi- 
 dence was on her side as against that hussy, and h?r course 
 became clear. 
 
 ' ' Here, lass ! ' ' said Chubb as she knew on sight of him 
 that he would say "I want you to stand by the cab for 
 a minute while I go across to speak to Miss Argle about
 
 282 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 the manure. She wants a load for her garden. Old mare '11 
 stand all right." 
 
 "Oh, I know old mare can't never do anything wrong," 
 said Mrs. Chubb, very emotional and overwrought. "If 
 you nobbud thought as much of your wife as you do 
 of " 
 
 But Chubb was already turning the corner, and Mrs. 
 Chubb stood staring at Griselda. After all could she? 
 Dared she? 
 
 Then she remembered the post-card : ' ' Meet me . . . D. 
 LAMBERT. ' ' The intimacy of it ! The open, wicked brazen- 
 ness of this creature, whom every one had pictured safe 
 among .the heathen Africans where she so properly be- 
 longed. No doubt she had let the poor fellow be taken off 
 the ship all by himself and had come flaunting home with- 
 out him, smoking cigarettes all the way. She gave Chubb 
 cigarettes some had turned up in his pocket only the other 
 day he had kept them as keepsakes. A wave of insensate 
 jealousy swept over Mrs. Chubb as she dashed into the 
 house, seized Chubb 's overcoat and an old hat which hung 
 in the kitchen, put on the coat, crushed the hat on her head, 
 dashed out of the house again, and scrambled upon the box. 
 
 She wrenched her knee in getting up no matter. It 
 only added sting and vim to the enterprise. She shook the 
 reins, but the mare, noting a difference, refused to move. 
 Then Mrs. Chubb seized the whip, the outraged Griselda 
 felt cut after cut slashing across her sacred shoulders, 
 and the stone pavement echoed to the furious driving of 
 Chubb 's cab through the morning quiet of Wendlebury. 
 Little boys ran by the side of it the newspaper girl stood 
 aghast Aunt Dickson, early up and gazing from her win- 
 dow, said, "There's Chubb driving like mad: I wonder 
 what has happened?" while the jackdaw in the Bowling 
 Green Inn garden near the end of the town, startled by the 
 clatter, repeated its two phrases over and over again. 
 
 Outside the town the wind freshened blowing from the 
 distant wolds, and at a turn of the road Mrs. Chubb 's hat
 
 THE ADVENTURE OF MRS. CHUBB 283 
 
 or, rather, Mr. Chubb 's blew over the hedge and away. 
 But Mrs. Chubb never drew rein for a moment and con- 
 tinued to press on, the cab rocking from side to side, and 
 Griselda lop-lopping in an exhausted canter. 
 
 Once, at a cross road, she called out to a labourer : ' ' This 
 way to Southwater Park?" and had to pause because the 
 man was so intrigued by her greyish hair blowing in the 
 wind, and Griselda 's attitude of injured exhaustion, and 
 Chubb 's coat which engulfed Mrs. Chubb to the nose-end, 
 that he had no reply ready. At last, however, he answered 
 in the affirmative and the mad race started again. School 
 was leaving as she went shouting and whipping and urging 
 the now hopeless Griselda through the village of South- 
 water. The school-children formed an imp-like procession 
 behind, shouting, yelling, dancing, calling out: "She's off 
 her dot ! She 's driving to 'Sylum ! She 's driving to 
 'Sylum!" 
 
 But they fell back, staggered, when she turned into the 
 park gates which the passage of a motor-car had left mo- 
 mentarily open. The bigger boys whispered together to go 
 and tell the p'leece, for she must be one o' them 'ere 
 suffragettes come to blow up Southwater Hall. The lodge- 
 keeper, running out, followed the cab up the drive, garden- 
 ers joined the chase, and Griseld,., winning by a single 
 length, stood trembling in every limb before the imposing 
 portal just as three immaculate Bracegirdles of Bracegirdle 
 descended from their car. 
 
 Lord Southwater, advancing bareheaded down the steps 
 to greet that charming terpsichorean lady whose legs as 
 as all "VVendlebury knew were as charming as the rest of 
 her, and he stopped silent, seized with dignified amaze at 
 the spectacle before him. 
 
 ' ' James ! " he commanded ; ' ' send that person away. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Chubb was off her box in an instant and flung 
 herself into the midst of the majestic group. But once 
 there, she could only open and shut her mouth, fish-like, 
 and say nothing. The onlookers viewed this phenomenon
 
 284 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 with silent astonishment. No one in the face of that wild- 
 haired, wild-eyed desperation could doubt the urgency of 
 Mrs. Chubb 's business there. 
 
 "My good woman " began Lord South water, when 
 
 James, suddenly grown human, said explosively from be- 
 hind : "It's Chubb 's cab!" 
 
 ' ' Chubb 's cab ! ' ' repeated Lord Southwater. ' ' Then who 
 is this?" 
 
 ' ' I I 'm the owneress, ' ' faltered Mrs. Chubb. ' ' I wanted 
 to speak to your lordship. It's an urgent matter." 
 
 "It seems so," commented Mrs. Bracegirdle. "Well, 
 Lord Southwater, you can't refuse to speak to a sort of 
 female John Gilpin, can you ? I 'm sure I couldn 't. ' ' 
 
 "This is preposterous," said Lord Soutnwater. 
 
 Mrs. Chubb saw her chance disappearing, and the fine 
 ladies and the fine servants again became as nothing to 
 her. 
 
 "It's a family matter," she urged. "I'd speak up now 
 before these ladies on'y I'm never one for washing your 
 dirty linen in public." 
 
 "I am not aware " began Lord Southwater again; 
 
 and then he remembered that brother of his who was 
 probably dead somewhere in Australia, and stopped short; 
 for, after all, he had a soiled family shirt like all the rest. 
 
 ' ' Oh, I '11 say it now. I don 't mind ! ' ' flung out the des- 
 perate Mrs. Chubb. "But have that hussy back in Wen- 
 dlebury Hypnotising people's husbands, and going on as 
 she does, I neither can nor will. Not if I'm to be hung 
 for it." 
 
 "Hussy!" said Mrs. Bracegirdle. "This sounds inter- 
 esting!" Then, as she feared nothing on earth, not even 
 Lord Southwater, she added archly, shaking a long, mani- 
 cured finger: "Another illusion gone! I always did be- 
 lieve in your er rectitude, Lord Southwater." 
 
 That peer's large pink face turned a deep tomato red as 
 he said with almost supernatural dignity 
 
 "Pray accompany me to the library, Mrs. er Chubb."
 
 THE ADVENTURE OF MRS. CHUBB 285 
 
 Then to his guests: "Perhaps you will kindly excuse me 
 . . . this poor woman ... I often have strange petitions. ' ' 
 
 "Mayn't we come too?" said the incorrigible Mrs. Brace- 
 girdle. "The tact and judgment of another woman ..." 
 
 Lord Southwater, pretending not to hear, stalked be- 
 fore Mrs. Chubb across the hall. 
 
 ' ' And now, ' ' he said, closing the door, ' ' I should be glad 
 to know your errand in as few words as possible." 
 
 "I was charing at Miss Walker's. She's a dressmaker 
 in "Wendlebury, " panted Mrs. Chubb, with her hand on 
 her heart. "She's a very nice lady, Miss Walker is." 
 
 ' ' I presume you did not come here to tell me that, ' ' said 
 Lord Southwater. 
 
 "No that is Miss Lambert used to lodge with Miss 
 Walker," pursued Mrs. Chubb, with a wary eye on Lord 
 Southwater, ready to spring at his coat-tails and hold him 
 if necessary, though he fortunately did not know this. 
 "Miss Lambert her as told fortunes " 
 
 "Ah!" said Lord Southwater. "Has she been stealing 
 anything? I know those vagrants sometimes " 
 
 "Vagrant!" said Mrs. Chubb. "She had my husband 
 driving her out in a cab all afternoon most days in the 
 week. She was a friend of Mr. Unwin 's. There was noth- 
 ing vagrant about her." 
 
 "Then what?" began Lord Southwater. 
 
 "Your lordship," said Mrs. Chubb, "I haven't come to 
 you for no light matter. She nypotised your brother, Mr. 
 Delamere, I don't doubt, and he died. She nypnotised 
 Mr. Unwin, just the same, and he's dying. She part nypo- 
 tised my Chubb, and now she's coming back to finish him 
 off. And I won't have it. If I'm hung for it, I won't!" 
 
 ' ' You speak of my brother, ' ' said Lord Southwater, look- 
 ing startled and uneasy. "What do you mean by that? 
 He has been long away from England." 
 
 "May be so," said Mrs. Chubb, drawing in her horns. 
 "I on'y know what happened. And you're a powerful 
 man about here. You got them other queer women turned
 
 286 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 out o' that house in Bowling Green Terrace. I want you 
 to stop Miss Lambert from coming back to Wendlebury. " 
 
 "How do you know Miss Lambert was acquainted 
 with my brother?" said Lord South water. 
 
 "Oh! Just a chance. I happened to find out," said 
 Mrs. Chubb. 
 
 ' ' But how ? ' ' persisted Lord Southwater, and the solemn 
 room, the deep, soft carpets, and his lordship's judicial air 
 caused poor Mrs. Chubb to falter out, against all her wiser 
 judgment 
 
 "I read some of Miss Lambert's letters one day when I 
 was doing her room. She left her keys and everything 
 about. She was like that. ' ' 
 
 Lord Southwater nearly choked with the intolerable in- 
 dignity of the situation, but he felt forced to demand 
 
 "Did you gather that they were friends?" 
 
 "Yes. I must say he wrote a beautiful letter when he 
 was dying. You could see he was fond on her. Though 
 no doubt it was all nypotising. That 's why I want you to 
 stop her from coming back." 
 
 But though this was the point to which Mrs. Chubb 's 
 mind clung, Lord Southwater no longer thought of it. 
 
 "Poor Dick! Then he is really gone. Poor Dick!" 
 and it was a minute or two before he added with a sigh : 
 "Then I must see this Miss Lambert." 
 
 "See her!" cried Mrs. Chubb, jumping up and spread- 
 ing out her arms as if he were starting at that moment. 
 "Now, don't you! Don't you! You're a big man, and a 
 lord, but you're a man if you'll excuse me saying so 
 all the same. And if she can get at you, she'll nypotise 
 you too. She will, indeed." 
 
 "No, no," said Lord Southwater, abstractedly, opening 
 the door and speaking to some one outside. 
 
 "You wouldn't have thought it of Chubb," urged Mrs. 
 Chubb, as the door closed again, wringing her hands at 
 her own impotence. "To see him sitting so noble on his 
 box you never would think and yet "
 
 THE ADVENTURE OF MRS. CHUBB 287 
 
 Lord Southwater opened the door again. 
 
 "I have ordered the dog-cart round to take you back," 
 he said. "Your cab will follow when the horse is suffi- 
 ciently rested. I must beg of you not to mention this 
 matter to any one until I have seen you once more. ' ' 
 
 "Do you think I want to mention it, sir?" distractedly 
 cried Mrs. Chubb. "I've kep' it to myself all this time. 
 I'll go on keeping it to myself for ever, if you'll only clear 
 her out of "Wendlebury. " 
 
 "I hope I shall be able to arrange that," said Lord 
 Southwater; then he conducted Mrs. Chubb, wild-haired, 
 frightened to death at what she had done, and yet reck- 
 lessly triumphant, to the waiting dog-cart. 
 
 The smart groom eyed his charge with an injured sur- 
 prise which not even a hereditary training in professional 
 woodenness could conceal. For a long time he sat dis- 
 dainful, saying nothing, as the dog-cart bowled swiftly 
 along. At last he said: "You seem to have lost your 
 hat!" 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' replied Mrs. Chubb to this self-evident fact, and 
 left it at that. 
 
 "Your old mare was about done," he continued. "You 
 must have brought her along in a hurry." 
 
 "I did," said Mrs. Chubb. 
 
 ' ' Urgent errand, I s 'pose ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Chubb. 
 
 "Very urgent?" he pursued. 
 
 "Very," said Mrs. Chubb. 
 
 And so, having thrown aside dignity for nothing, he 
 resumed it again ; thus the oddly assorted pair continued 
 their way in silence until the sight of Chubb standing at 
 the cross roads made Mrs. Chubb turn very white, open 
 her mouth, shut it again, and gaze in speechless agony at 
 the groom. 
 
 "What's up?" he said. 
 
 "That's my husband," she said huskily. "Let me get 
 down. ' '
 
 288 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 He pulled up and let her alight. Chubb, meanwhile, 
 with a sort of bellow began to run towards her. 
 
 "Seems cross your old man," said the groom. "No 
 wonder." Then something in Mrs. Chubb 's face appealed 
 to the manhood in him. "I'll stop a minute and see he 
 doesn't knock you about, if you like." 
 
 "Knock me about!" retorted Mrs. Chubb, throwing up 
 her head ; and while her teeth chattered so that she could 
 scarcely articulate, she added: "That's just his way of 
 showing he 's pleased to see me. He 's the best and kindest 
 and mildest man what ever lived. He woulcln 't lay a finger 
 on me to save himself from the gallers!" 
 
 The groom eyed the big, red-faced man coming on like 
 a mad bull and muttered doubtfully 
 
 "Well nothing to be gained by interfering between 
 husband and wife, I s'pose. " 
 
 And with that he turned round and drove slowly off, 
 looking round every now and then to see what was hap- 
 pening. 
 
 "Wha-yer-mean-by-er-er-er-er " This booming, con- 
 fused sound came along the white lane and over the just- 
 springing hedgerows. 
 
 Mrs. Chubb stood quite still because her legs would not 
 carry her one inch further. She met Chubb 's onslaught 
 with the strange quiet of utter desperation. 
 
 "The cab had to go to Southwater in a hurry you 
 wasn't there I took it," she said, in a perfectly toneless 
 voice. 
 
 "Who fetched it? Why didn't you send for me?" 
 shouted Chubb; but he was rather taken aback by her 
 quietude. 
 
 "The cab had to go in a hurry I took it," repeated 
 Mrs. Chubb, scarcely moving her lips. 
 
 "Like that!" said Chubb, pointing at her dishevelled 
 head. "Oh, you're mad! You're mad! You're like your 
 old aunt that used to think she had a squirrel inside of her
 
 THE ADVENTURE OF MRS. CHUBB 289 
 
 and fed it with nuts." He paused, breathing heavily. 
 "You must be mad. Where's the cab now?" 
 
 "They ..." Mrs. Chubb opened and shut her mouth, 
 making no further sound. 
 
 "Gosh!" cried the justly exasperated Chubb; "if this 
 doesn't beat all! She can't even tell me where she's put 
 the cab!" 
 
 "They're bringing it later in the day," said Mrs. 
 Chubb ; and she felt a sudden joy sweep over her because 
 whatever happened the cab could not meet Delia by the 
 five o'clock train. 
 
 ' ' "Well, you 've done a pretty thing ! ' ' said Chubb. ' ' Miss 
 Walker, the dressmaker, told me to meet Miss Lambert by 
 the five o'clock train, and I've had to order a cab from 
 the Red Lion. Queer her not letting me know. I can't 
 understand it. I should have thought she'd be sure to 
 drop me a card!" 
 
 "P'raps it was lost in the post lots of letters is," said 
 Mrs. Chubb, beginning to tremble again. 
 
 "Maybe," said Chubb. "Anyway, I couldn't have met 
 her because of your tomfoolery, so it's all for the best." 
 
 And at this Mrs. Chubb began to weep quietly, like a 
 person who has just come forth from some great danger and 
 can scarcely yet believe himself safe. 
 
 "Let's go round by the tripe shop," she sobbed, mop- 
 ping her eyes. "I didn't get none this morning, and I 
 want a bit of something extra good for your supper." 
 
 Thus did Mrs. Chubb prepare to lay her evening thank- 
 offering upon love's altar; and as she and Chubb emerged 
 from the shop together after choosing with care the most 
 succulent bits, Chubb said 
 
 "You may walk home by yourself the rest of the way. 
 I can't walk with a woman that hasn't a hat on and looks 
 a regular figure o' fun. I have my place to keep up in 
 Wendlebury. "What would any of the ladies say if they was 
 to meet me? I'll go by market place and you go round 
 back way. ' '
 
 290 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "Very well," said Mrs. Chubb. "It's on'y natural, so 
 much thought on as you are. You couldn't do silly things 
 like what I do if you was to try ever so.*' 
 
 "I couldn't," responded Chubb, mollified, however, by 
 his wife 's flattery. ' ' I allus had more gumption than most 
 folks. My mother used to tell me that. It would take a 
 clever person to deceive me. So mind never you try it on, 
 or it '11 be worse for you. ' ' 
 
 "N-no," quavered Mrs. Chubb. Then, to her intense re- 
 lief, Pauline rounded the corner. 
 
 ' ' Good day, ' ' began Pauline, but realising the distraught 
 and unusual appearance of Mrs. Chubb, she added quickly, 
 "I hope there has not been an accident? What is the 
 matter?" 
 
 "Nothing; merely lost her hat," said Chubb, taking on 
 his shoulders the honour of the family. "Any lady might 
 lose her hat! Draught at a street corner. Passing wag- 
 gon. There it goes!" He turned upon his wife, deter- 
 mined that his words should be true. "That's how yours 
 went, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes; there did seem a strong draught," said Mrs. 
 Chubb, with convincing sincerity, remembering that head- 
 long flight. Then some subtle desire to test Pauline's 
 feeling about Delia made her add, glancing up with her 
 foolish, vacant look: " Chubb 's a bit bothered. He thinks 
 Miss Lambert's card has been lost in the post. Miss Lam- 
 bert's coming back to Wendlebury by the five train!" 
 
 "What!" said Pauline, flushing crimson from chin to 
 forehead. ' ' She 's in England ? ' ' 
 
 "She's coming to Wendlebury by the five train," re- 
 peated Mrs. Chubb. 
 
 And somehow Chubb, though he loomed large and spoke 
 of Miss Walker, was as though he were not there. The 
 real, vital sense of what passed, leapt between Mrs. Chubb 
 and Pauline like the flashing of some electric medium. 
 When it was over, they both knew that the other regarded 
 Delia as the enemy: for they had gone down to the deep
 
 THE ADVENTURE OF MRS. CHUBB 291 
 
 core of things where women are the same. Pauline, how- 
 ever, only said smoothly 
 
 "You will be glad to see Miss Lambert back, Mrs. 
 Chubb. She was such a splendid customer." 
 
 And Chubb replied for his wife 
 
 "Yes: not too many of them knocking about, Miss." 
 
 But as Pauline turned away her senses steadied from 
 the shock and her whole being suddenly became flooded 
 with light. A new thought shone out across her disturbed 
 soul like the tremendous ray of a lighthouse on a stormy 
 sea. 
 
 If Delia were coming back to "Wendlebury she could not 
 be with Unwin. 
 
 Mrs. Chubb, glancing at that illuminated face, lost all 
 her bearings. With the tripe tightly pressed to her side, 
 she watched Pauline's elastic gait. 
 
 Miss Lambert had made a fool of Miss Westcott 's young 
 man. She was coming back to Wendlebury. What in the 
 whole sphere of human things was there to look pleased 
 about in such occurrences ? Then Chubb gave her a nudge, 
 and said fiercely in her ear 
 
 ' ' What are you stopping at ? Get home with you figger 
 o' fun! If you could nobbud see yourself! I can't think 
 how ever you come to do such a tomfool trick. ' ' 
 
 And it was not just Mrs. Chubb who answered, it was a 
 thousand generations of Mrs. Chubbs, evading by words 
 aeons of Mr. Chubbs with clenched fist the last kick as it 
 were, of a vanishing attitude in civilised Europe. 
 
 "Chubby," she said, gazing at him in simple adoration. 
 "I don't know how it is as I haven't got cleverer with be- 
 ing with you." 
 
 "No," said Chubb; "no, nor I don't." 
 
 And upon that they parted, taking separate roads home. 
 
 As Chubb plodded along he reflected that his wife was 
 a poor, silly thing, and that a man like him ought to have 
 had a clever woman, while all the time his subconscious 
 self was soothed and gratified by the subtle incense which
 
 292 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 Mrs. Chubb 's inferiority offered to his vanity. "When he 
 had eaten the tripe he was in a mood of god-like forgive- 
 ness, though he only said 
 
 "There was too much onion with that tripe!"
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 LORD SOUTHWATER IN A SIDE STREET 
 
 THE news of Delia's return circulated through Wen- 
 dlebury with the incredible swiftness of rumour in 
 an Eastern bazaar that most wonderful gossip shop in 
 the world which has influenced the destiny of nations 
 where the Power of Gossip becomes, as it were, visible, 
 openly taking its strange and terrible place in the scheme 
 of human life. 
 
 Compared with that, the gentle murmurings of the 
 ladies of Wendlebury seem almost ridiculous, but when 
 Miss Amelia came in, half -crying, to say to her sister: 
 "I hear poor young Unwin is dying alone out there. 
 If he had got that post with Lord Southwater this would 
 never have happened," it could be seen that even in little 
 English Wendlebury gossip held the powers of life and 
 death. 
 
 "He might have eaten tinned lobster at home and died 
 of ptomaine poisoning," snapped Miss Harriet; not be- 
 cause she thought so, but because she was sorry herself 
 and that always made her irritable. 
 
 "And Miss Lambert has come back! not that I know 
 any real harm of her. It looks as if she never did run 
 away with him, and we did him such an injustice, and 
 the poor boy dying all alone over there," wept Miss 
 Amelia. "Oh dear! I'll never say anything but nice 
 things about people ever any more so long as I live." 
 
 "Then you will no longer be a human being, Amelia," 
 said Miss Harriet, "but an unpleasant machine for the 
 
 293
 
 294 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 distillation of artificial honey, and as such to be avoided 
 by all reasonable persons." She paused, and added ener- 
 getically: "Have you forgotten Mrs. Wareham, who 
 used to call even the pigs pretty dears, for fear she should 
 get out of practice? If you are going to be like that, 
 Amelia, you and I part company." 
 
 "But she did it to be popular, not because she thought 
 nice things, and that somehow shone through," said Miss 
 Amelia. "I'm going to think nothing but nice things." 
 Then she removed the handkerchief at the sound of pass- 
 ing wheels. "There's Lord Southwater. I wonder how 
 he feels, cocked up there looking as pleased as pleased 
 with himself and thinking everything he does is right be- 
 cause he does it, and Mrs. Delamere showing her teeth 
 like an advertisement for a ..." She broke off abruptly, 
 putting her hand to her lips. " Oh ! how can you keep on 
 saying nasty things just after talking as I did? Oh, 
 dear!" 
 
 And she went upstairs, overwhelmed by the perplexities 
 of human existence. 
 
 But after a while the faded, spacious quiet of her room 
 began to quiet her agitation, and she wished very much 
 that she could do something for Unwin, who had been so 
 good to her, and whom her simple mind pictured alone 
 among heathen strangers, not realising that Teneriffe is 
 a great deal more advanced than "Wendlebury, and far 
 away from the equator. Her glance fell upon the sam- 
 pler worked by her mother with little busy fingers so long 
 ago, and she read for the ten-thousandth time the four 
 lines in black cross-stitch 
 
 "The loss of wealth is much, 
 The loss of time is more ; 
 The loss of faith is such 
 As no man can restore."
 
 LORD SOUTHWATER IN A SIDE STREET 295 
 
 That reminded her of the only thing she could do for 
 Unwin; so she knelt down by the bed, though it was the 
 middle of the morning, and the action at that unusual 
 hour gave her an odd feeling, like getting dressed in the 
 middle of the night. 
 
 But mousey-haired, simple Miss Amelia with hsr sen- 
 sation of doing something cold and queer, and her mud- 
 dled petitions to her Maker did yet indeed possess at 
 that moment the greatest treasure of mankind, the loss 
 of which no man can restore or pay for, as those perhaps 
 know best who have once lost it. 
 
 Then she put on her coat and hat again, starting to 
 go and see Pauline. But half-way across the room she 
 turned back and took them off once more. Something 
 deep down in her heart some far echo of that spoilt love 
 of her youth told her she must do the harder thing and 
 keep away from the girl she desired so ardently to help. 
 She knew that Pauline's sorrow and suspense now was 
 of the order which can only be helped by silence. 
 
 Lord Southwater meanwhile deposited Mrs. Delamere 
 at her residence, and in spite of her kind desire to accom- 
 pany him he made it clear that he had business which he 
 preferred to transact alone. So the landlady of the Bowl- 
 ing Green Inn caught an astonished glimpse of him pro- 
 ceeding majestically on foot past her back premises while 
 she was feeding Mary Jane the jackdaw, and she nearly 
 ended that excellent fowl's career for ever by smothering 
 its second and more profane phrase with her apron. 
 
 "Can you direct me to the house of Miss Walker the 
 dressmaker?" said his lordship. "I am not well ac- 
 quainted with this part of the town." 
 
 "I'll come with you, sir," said the woman, darting 
 forth, intensely curious to see what Lord Southwater 
 could possibly want with a dressmaker. "There that 
 door there that queer-looking woman has just opened 
 it." 
 
 For Delia, in an old blue tea-gown and with disordered
 
 296 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 hair, had just stepped out to look for the newsboy. 
 
 "Ah! Thank you," said his lordship; and in that mo- 
 ment he thought he knew all there was to know about 
 Delia. "Ahem! May I presume I am speaking to Miss 
 Lambert?" he said, advancing with an air which pre- 
 vented even the Bowling Green landlady who was a per- 
 son of riotous imagination from thinking that he had 
 come to have his fortune told. 
 
 Delia hesitated for a second, looking at him with an 
 odd, whimsical expression which he could not at all un- 
 derstand, but which he felt to be most unbecoming. She 
 even offensively allowed her loose garment to remain un- 
 buttoned at the throat and her hair to stray wildly over 
 her forehead with no nervous attempt whatever to fit her- 
 self for the Presence: and it was to Lord Southwater as 
 if she had slapped his large, pink face. He felt once more 
 that poor Dick was a trouble and a disgrace, as he had 
 always been, and the feeble spirit of brotherly sentiment 
 which had animated him on the way there died down. But 
 it was his duty to find out how and when his brother died, 
 and for his own sake he must do his duty. No sacrifice 
 was too great to preserve his colossal self-respect. So he 
 repeated: "Miss Delia Lambert, I believe? Will you al- 
 low me to step in for a few moments ? ' ' 
 
 "Very well," said Delia. "You can come in if you 
 like. Sit down." 
 
 But he remained standing before the mantelpiece, one 
 foot a little in advance, gloves in hand. Delia, tall, lean, 
 vivid, but dimmed with untidiness and fatigue, sat oppo- 
 site to him. 
 
 "I have sought this interview with reference to my 
 brother," he said at once, solemnly, being incapable of 
 subtlety; and had Delia never known Delamere, and been 
 the woman Lord Southwater thought her, she could have 
 made capital enough out of that phrase alone as he said it. 
 But she just looked into his honest, self-righteous face and 
 said quietly
 
 LORD SOUTHWATER IN A SIDE STREET 297 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "A person " Lord South water choked a little, 
 
 thinking of Mrs. Chubb even in death Dick brought 
 him into low company. "I am told that you were very 
 friendly with my brother. I noted that he no longer drew 
 his remittance from the bank, but I argued that he might 
 have fallen on good times made a fortune one never 
 knows." 
 
 "Especially when one doesn't particularly want to 
 know," said Delia, still very quietly, but with her lack- 
 lustre expression quickening. 
 
 "You are evidently aware that circumstances divided 
 my brother from his family," said Lord Southwater. ""We 
 will leave it at that, if you please. Briefly, my errand is 
 to find out the time and place of his death." 
 
 "No," said Delia, "I think not. You don't care. You 
 only want to know because you feel in the wrong position. 
 I am not inclined to betray his confidence in order to ease 
 your mind of that." She began to breathe quickly, her 
 eyes shone, and even through Lord Southwater 's outraged 
 annoyance the thought flashed : " She may have been 
 good-looking; it is not so absolutely incomprehensible, 
 after all." Aloud he said, incredulous 
 
 "But you cannot refuse to give this information to me 
 the man's brother?" 
 
 "Yes, I can. I can and will," said Delia. 
 
 "Then," said Lord Southwater, "it remains only for 
 me to return to my first informant. But I hoped to have 
 spared my brother's memory. That, I assure you, was 
 my only motive." 
 
 And Delia, staring at him, began to laugh in spite of 
 her love and sorrow and anger. He seemed so funny to 
 her, standing there, pompously believing what he said. 
 
 "Who was your informant?" she asked. 
 
 "That I decline to say. I was told in confidence. I 
 never betray a confidence," said Lord Southwater. 
 
 "Oh, very well," said Delia. "Only I thought if it
 
 298 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 were any one who really did know anything I might give 
 you the information you desire. The less talk there is 
 the better, of course." 
 
 Lord Southwater walked to the window, agitated. 
 There was something about this young woman ... a 
 power . . . After a few moments he came back to the 
 mantelpiece, coughed once more, and acknowledged, with 
 reddened forehead and an overwhelming dignity of de- 
 meanour 
 
 "My informant was a woman named Chubb." 
 
 ''Mrs. Chubb!" cried Delia, jumping up from her seat. 
 "However could she . . .? Oh, she is charwoman here 
 and often did my room. I am so careless: she must have 
 read a letter." 
 
 Lord Southwater bowed, simply because he could not 
 bring forth any sound with which to intimate that he 
 shared this view, and realised that his information had 
 come through private letters read by a charwoman; but 
 he again felt bitterly that Dick even in death had power 
 to drag him down. At last he was able to articulate 
 
 ' ' I only heard the broad fact of your friendship. I have 
 no idea what was in the letter. I am sure you will realise 
 that all this is as intolerable to me as it ever can be to 
 you." 
 
 "I don't doubt that," said Delia slowly. "Well, know 
 the truth, then! He crept home when he was dying, like 
 a sick dog because it was home and he loved it. And he 
 died at the Dragon at Ryeford, where he could hear the 
 Wendlebury bells and need not bother you." 
 
 Lord South water's face changed, for no man who is not 
 a brute can hear such a thing of a brother and remain 
 unmoved. 
 
 "I would have come," he said. "Dick knew I would 
 come if he sent for me. I am not like that." He paused. 
 "He Did he die alone?" 
 
 Delia looked at him intently for a minute, then she
 
 .LORD SOUTHWATER IN A SIDE STREET 299 
 
 shrugged her shoulders. After all, it was not for her to 
 mete out punishment. 
 
 "No." 
 
 Lord Southwater heaved a sigh of relief, the pink colour 
 came back into his face. 
 
 "You were there?" And even to himself it appeared 
 incredible that he should thank God for that. 
 
 "No," said Delia. "I was in London." 
 
 "Then it was a stranger?" 
 
 "Yes." She paused again, a long time, as it seemed, 
 with the clock ticking in that little room, before she con- 
 tinued: "It was Unwin who found him fainting on a 
 stone-heap by the roadside. He went there to see the 
 roofs of Wendlebury. You know how they look with the 
 rain across them. Poor Dick! He was always a senti- 
 mentalist!" 
 
 But Lord Southwater was in some strange way offended 
 to hear from Delia's lips what he had himself said a thou- 
 sand times. 
 
 ' ' Did Mr. Unwin go again ? " he said, frowning. 
 
 "Yes. He sat up the last three or four nights. He was 
 there when Dick died. It was the morning after you 
 lectured in Wendlebury. Unwin went just as he was 
 from your lecture, in his dress things, and stayed all 
 night." 
 
 "I suppose " Lord Southwater had to moisten his 
 
 lips, which had suddenly turned dry. "I suppose Unwin 
 does not know." 
 
 "Know what? That the dying stranger at the Dragon 
 Inn was your brother ? Oh, yes. ' ' 
 
 "And yet he never said a word. I I inflicted on him 
 a very great disappointment, and yet he never said a 
 word." 
 
 "He'd promised not to," said Delia. "You don't think 
 your appointment would tempt him to make capital out 
 of a secret he had promised a dying man to keep, do 
 you?"
 
 300 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "No." Lord Southwater cast his mind back to his first 
 impression of Unwin before it had been spoilt and blurred 
 by Mrs. Delamere's story of the young rake coming out 
 of the Dragon Inn. Then he thought of the pawnshop and 
 Miss Amelia, and his never quite allayed sense of un- 
 easiness on that score prepared him to say now: "I have 
 done Mr. Unwin a great injustice. I will ask his pardon. 
 I will make everything all right." 
 
 Delia shook her head sadly. 
 
 "That's beyond even your power, Lord Southwater." 
 
 He looked at her, startled at last. 
 
 "What! He's not . . .?" 
 
 "He's dying at Teneriffe." 
 
 Lord Southwater said nothing, only began to walk to- 
 wards the door; and for the first time in his life he 
 walked like an old man. But it was not grief for his 
 brother nor for Unwin which had broken him up: it was 
 for himself, that he had been unjust. He, whose religion 
 it was to be just, who had clothed himself with justice as 
 with a toga, felt as if everything in the world had been 
 taken from him, and he were being forced out naked into 
 Bowling Green Terrace. 
 
 At the door he paused, brushing his trembling hand 
 across his forehead. 
 
 "What doctor attended him? Did Carter?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then Carter knows too! It was very wrong of him 
 to allow me to remain in ignorance." 
 
 "He is hardly the man, I should say, to betray a pro- 
 fessional secret which was solemnly entrusted to him," 
 said Delia. 
 
 "No, I suppose not," said Lord Southwater; for be- 
 sides thinking himself a just person, he was one. "No, 
 one could not expect him to do that." He paused again, 
 like a man who has lost his bearings. "But you had no 
 idea that I that Mrs. Chubb " He really was un-
 
 LORD SOUTHWATER IN A SIDE STREET 301 
 
 able to finish his sentence. "What made you come to 
 Wendlebury just at this juncture?" 
 
 "Oh! I was walking past the Square garden," said 
 Delia casually, "a grimy Bloomsbury sort of square, you 
 know; and it began to rain, slanting across the trees. So 
 I thought of Wendlebury in the spring. And I came." 
 
 "Indeed!" replied Lord South water, obviously disbe- 
 lieving her, though she spoke the simple truth; and he 
 went away. 
 
 Delia watched him go down the street recovering his 
 lost dignity with every yard which divided them, and 
 she thought how incredible it seemed that this was the 
 brother of the man she loved. She could not picture them 
 laughing and playing together, and yet they must have 
 done. . . . After he had turned the corner she went in 
 and made a hasty toilette. She felt a sudden, irresistible 
 desire to put some primroses on Dick Delamere's 
 nameless grave, so that he should not seem outlawed and 
 forgotten. 
 
 As she was standing by a long table heaped with 
 bunches of primroses from the green lanes and woods 
 round Wendlebury, she looked across to see Pauline 
 bending over them, the pale yellow reflected most deli- 
 cately on the fine, pale skin of the girl 's face. 
 
 She waited, not knowing whether to bow or not, and 
 soon noted that Pauline was trying to say something. At 
 last the words came. 
 
 "Miss Lambert, can you tell me how Mr. Unwin 
 is?" 
 
 "I had a letter from his nurse ten days ago. She said 
 he was very ill," said Delia, gravely and directly. 
 
 "And you have not heard since?" 
 
 ''No; I have not heard since." 
 
 "Thank you. It is very kind of you to tell me. Good- 
 morning," said Pauline, going away without her prim- 
 roses. 
 
 Her delicate reserve and pride were all broken down
 
 302 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 now by her love; she would have knelt to Delia in the 
 open market place if she could have got by it any news 
 of Unwin. But there was no news, and she returned 
 home to live out another interminable day. 
 
 The next evening, as she sat sewing while Aunt Dick- 
 son played Patience for the old lady had never relin- 
 quished that game again, feeling it was something she 
 must hold on to in case it was wanted there came a 
 great noise of talking and giggling outside in the quiet 
 street, and immediately Eva stood in the room, almost as 
 if she had been propelled up a flight of stone steps and 
 through two wooden doors by the Hands of Fate. 
 
 "If I don't do it now I never shall," she panted, 
 breathless: "I give you notice that I'm going to get 
 married. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, Eva!" said Aunt Dickson, and her lip began to 
 tremble: then she straightened her huge bulk in her chair 
 and added bravely: "Don't think for one moment that 
 I begrudge you a home of your own; I'm very glad. It 
 was just the suddenness ..." But here the memory of 
 all those faithful years of service swept over her, and 
 she could only hold out her big, soft hand, enveloping 
 Eva's hard fingers in a close pressure, while she mur- 
 mured, gulping down the rising tears: "You may count 
 on me for the bedroom suite." 
 
 "Bedroom suite?" said Eva. "Thanking you all the 
 same, but the house is crammed with furniture. You 
 know that, 'm!" 
 
 "What house? Who is he? Oh, I do hope you will be 
 happy," said Pauline. 
 
 "Why, this house, Miss, of course," said Eva. "You 
 don't think I'm going to leave Mrs. Dickson! Why, I 
 mainly took to him, though he has a lump on his nose 
 and ginger hair, which I hate, because he's neither a 
 smoker nor drinker, and works every day from eight to 
 eight, and has a light tread and isn't a bad snorer."
 
 LORD SOUTHWATER IN A SIDE STREET 303 
 
 ' ' But how do yon know that ? ' ' said Aunt Dickson, smil- 
 ing through her tears. 
 
 "I asked him," said Eva simply; and Pauline, even 
 in the midst of all her misery, had to laugh too. 
 
 "But you do care for him? He is nice?" she asked. 
 "Dear Eva, you ought to have a good hushand." 
 
 "Oh, he's right enough," said Eva. "Not what I 
 fancied I was going to get when I was a lass of seven- 
 teen, but you and me knows, Miss Pauline, that isn't often 
 to be had. Us Martins was always ones for making the 
 best of things, though, and as Mother used to say when 
 our Ben wanted pork-pie he was a nailer for pork-pie 
 'You go and scratch pig's back and think about next pig- 
 killing.' Ay; I owe a lot to my poor mother!" 
 
 "Well," said Aunt Dickson, "you rather take my 
 breath away, but I suppose if he is a quiet, respectable 
 man the arrangement ought to be quite satisfactory. 
 What do you think, Pauline ? ' ' 
 
 "I think it all depends whether Eva is really fond of 
 him, ' ' said Pauline. 
 
 Eva pleated her handkerchief, seeking words, a thing 
 she seldom had to do. 
 
 "It's in this way," she said. "When you get a bit on 
 in life, you want somebody of your own that you don't 
 share out. Other people's husbands, even if they're your 
 own brothers and uncles, is only like borrowed umbrellas 
 they keep the rain off, but you have to treat 'em so 
 careful, and give 'em back, and say 'Thank you' if you 
 know what I mean ? ' ' She paused. ' ' You '11 never remem- 
 ber Jum's in the house, 'm, but when there's a burglar, 
 or a mouse, or the doctor wants fetching in the night." 
 
 "I must think it over," said her mistress. 
 
 But Eva felt quite sure that the matter was really set- 
 tled, and she was right, for Aunt Dickson spent the rest 
 of the evening very happily in making plans for the 
 newly married couple, even arranging for the accommo-
 
 304 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 dation in the back premises of a numerous family, should 
 such a contingency arise. 
 
 So another week passed by with no further news of 
 Unwin, and Pauline went about her business with pale 
 lips and dark rings under her eyes, unable to feel the 
 keen interest in Eva's affairs which Aunt Dickson de- 
 manded. Then, on the following market day, a thrilling 
 piece of news again ran through Wendlebury. Everybody 
 spoke to everybody else about it in the street, in shops, 
 even in church where Miss Amelia whispered it to Miss 
 Argle behind her glove at daily Matins. 
 
 "Have you seen? A new gravestone outside? Where 
 we thought a stranger called Johnson . . .? Well! it's 
 Richard Delamere!" 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Miss Argle, so loudly that the curate 
 coughed, rising to begin. 
 
 Then the two ladies had to keep silence, because when 
 there are only seven people in a church the most urgent 
 conversation must be left in abeyance. But the moment 
 service was over they hurried down the churchyard, and 
 stood by the gleaming new marble stone which Lord 
 Southwater's wealth had allowed to be so speedily 
 erected. He was in a great hurry to feel that he had done 
 justice to his erring brother. 
 
 "How beautiful!" sighed Miss Amelia. " 'In our 
 Father 's house are many mansions. ' So appropriate ! 
 No doubt happier for both, even when reconciled: such 
 a difference of temperament. I often find that text a com- 
 fort . . . people you feel you could not get on with, even 
 in heaven . . . don't you?" 
 
 But Miss Argle had naturally failed to follow the vague 
 windings of Miss Amelia's mind, and said musingly 
 
 "I wonder what made Richard Delamere come back? 
 His poor mother worshipped him, and died broken- 
 hearted; but perhaps it was the thought of her that drew 
 him back when his time came." 
 
 "I expect it was that. Poor fellow . . . just coming
 
 LORD SOUTmVATER IN A SIDE STREET 305 
 
 back to die and bothering nobody. How touching and 
 beautiful!" said Miss Amelia, wiping her eyes. 
 
 So Dick Delamere, incorrigible sentimentalist, lay in 
 "Wendlebury churchyard, with his memory gilded by the 
 light he loved but the other side of him would have 
 mocked at the expensive tombstone.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE ladies of Wendlebury were all assembled in the 
 large hall where the greatest bazaar in the history of 
 the county was to take place. Bracegirdles, Argles, and 
 the like would be as common on the day as rabbits in har- 
 vest time ; meanwhile the town ladies did that work which 
 remains unseen, and quarrelled pleasantly over the situ- 
 ation of the various stalls. Mrs. Chubb was present to 
 sweep and dust. Every now and then some one would 
 say 
 
 "I wonder what has got Mrs. Delamere?" 
 
 And despite a certain pride which all "Wendlebury took 
 in its most aristocratic inhabitant, Miss Harriet 's caustic : 
 "I expect she's waiting for her peers," found an echo in 
 every breast, even in that of the gentle Miss Amelia. 
 
 At last, however, there was a clash of an opening door, 
 a sound of hurrying footsteps, and Mrs. Delamere was 
 in the midst of them, presenting such a spectacle as no 
 Wendlebury lady could look on unmoved. 
 
 " Water! A seat!" she gasped, sinking upon an up- 
 turned packing-case. "Oh! that I should have lived to 
 see this day!" 
 
 ' ' What ! what ! Give her air ! No, not that ! That 's the 
 glue she said water. Oh, here is Pauline with the water. ' ' 
 So spoke all the ladies at once. 
 
 "Ah!" Mrs. Delamere groaned, and sipped. 
 
 "Do tell us what happened, dear Mrs. Delamere," said 
 the Vicar's wife. "Are you hurt anywhere?" 
 
 306
 
 THE GREAT BAZAAR 307 
 
 "Not bodily," said Mrs. Delamere, and groaned again. 
 
 "Take another sip," urged Miss Harriet, aching with 
 curiosity. 
 
 "My brother-in-law, Lord Southwater," began Mrs. 
 Delamere and how differently the familiar phrase 
 sounded now! "my brother-in-law, Lord Southwater 
 . . . Oh!" she wailed, breaking off. "Useless to hide the 
 truth when he did it before the stationmaster and the en- 
 tire platform ! I was changing a book at Smith 's book- 
 stall. I was an eye-witness, though only at the last. ' ' 
 
 "But what has he done?" cried Miss Argle, shaking 
 Mrs. Delamere 's shoulder. "Tell us what he has done." 
 
 The others withdrew a very little though not nearly 
 beyond earshot because the Argles had been sheeplifting 
 when the Delameres were doing something of the same sort 
 in the Golden Past, so these descendants were naturally 
 of a class, and thus nearer to each other than the rest. 
 
 "Henrietta," said Mrs. Delamere, "my brother-in-law 
 Lord Southwater, has gone to London with that Miss Lam- 
 bert ! I just caught a glimpse of him handing her into a 
 first-class carriage. He followed. The whistle blew. I 
 ran out on to the platform, ordering the guard to stop 
 at once. But I was too late. The train was already in 
 motion, and that disreputable person, in a crimson hat, 
 simply hung out of the carriage window and and " 
 
 "And what?" murmured Mary Carter, who was young 
 and unable to restrain herself. 
 
 ' ' It seems incredible in a decent world, ' ' said Mrs. Dela- 
 mere in a low voice. "My brother-in-law was opening 
 a bag with his back turned, and she took the opportunity 
 to to to spread forth her fingers and make what is 
 called a long nose at me." She paused at an odd sound. 
 "What's that?" 
 
 ' ' Only me choking. . . . My throat. . . . Always is tire- 
 some when you first start your training as hospital nurse, ' ' 
 explained Mary.
 
 308 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "But you don't you don't think they've eloped?" 
 gasped Miss Argle. 
 
 "I don't know," said Mrs. Delamere. "I fear so. It 
 looked like it. Oh, if my late dear husband were alive! 
 But I am thankful he has been spared this!" 
 
 "Whatever could make him do it?" said Miss Amelia. 
 
 And it was then that Mrs. Chubb emerged from the 
 back of the group with a brush in one hand and a duster 
 in the other, wearing the fixed expression of a sleep- 
 walker. 
 
 "I know!" she said. "Poor feller; you don't want to 
 blame him he can't help it!" 
 
 "What do you mean?" said Mrs. Delamere, sitting up 
 straight on her packing-case and glaring at Mrs. Chubb. 
 
 Mrs. Chubb opened and shut her mouth, staring round 
 at them all; at last she said 
 
 ' ' That Miss Lambert, she Hypnotised poor Mr. Delamere 
 not your husband, Mrs. Delamere, but Mr. Richard 
 and he died. Then she nypnotised young Mr. Unwin and 
 got him away from Miss Pauline here, and he's dying so 
 they say. Then she nypnotised my Chubb so's he won't 
 have a word said ag'in her, and would take her out driv- 
 ing for nothing, I do believe. Now it's Lord Southwater. 
 She did ought to be shut up. Mark my words, she'd 
 nypnotise an Archbishop if she could get at him." 
 
 "Hush! Hush!" murmured the Vicar's wife. 
 
 Then the door opened again and a groom in the South- 
 water livery entered. 
 
 "Mrs. Delamere here?" he asked. 
 
 A sort of electric current passed through the assembly: 
 this was drama; this was life! 
 
 "A note from his lordship. No answer," said the man, 
 and prepared to retire; but Mrs. Delamere rose majesti- 
 cally from her box to exhibit her sway over the minions 
 of her kinsman's household. 
 
 "Stop!" she commanded. "I may require you. Did 
 his lordship give this to you himself?"
 
 THE GREAT BAZAAR 309 
 
 And the man, who hated Mrs. Delamere, replied wood- 
 enly 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, just before he went to pick up Miss Lam- 
 bert." 
 
 "You may wait in the vestibule," said Mrs. Delamere 
 rather faintly. Then she opened her letter, and the ladies 
 of Wendlebury tried in vain to look the other way while 
 she perused it. But the remarkable and violent alteration 
 of expression which her face underwent conquered even 
 their ladylike feint of curiosity, and in the end they were 
 all, including Mrs. Chubb, goggling frankly upon her, 
 practically asking : ' ' What does he say ? ' ' 
 ' "It's not," said Mrs. Delamere, pressing her hand upon 
 her surcharged heart "it's not an elopement, but an er- 
 rand of mercy ! ' ' 
 
 "I'm very glad to hear it," said Miss Harriet, and all 
 the other ladies thought they thought the same ; but there 
 was an undeniable feeling of anti-climax as the Vicar's 
 wife added : ' ' Dear Lord Southwater is always so char- 
 itable ! ' ' and waited for the next item. 
 
 "It appears that this er Miss Lambert is a chosen 
 friend of Mr. Unwin. Let me see exactly what Lord South- 
 water " And in that pause Pauline gazed at Mrs. 
 
 Delamere with an intensity that Miss Amelia could not 
 help noticing. "Oh, yes, young Unwin is better and is 
 being sent home on board ship. They are going to meet 
 the invalid at the docks. My brother-in-law, Lord South- 
 water" the familiar roll was already back again "is al- 
 ways an Angel of Goodness." 
 
 "But that wouldn't make him want to take Miss Lam- 
 bert to meet Mr. Unwin, would it?" said Miss Amelia, 
 greatly troubled by the look on Pauline's face. 
 
 "Unless they were engaged and Lord Southwater had 
 got to know of it," suggested the Vicar's wife. 
 
 "But even then " said Mary Carter. "Lord South- 
 water is all that is good and kind, of course, but he is not 
 my idea of an amateur Cupid."
 
 310 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "Mary!" exclaimed her mother; then, apologetically, 
 to the other ladies: "This comes of studying in hos- 
 pitals ; girls get so off-hand ! ' ' 
 
 "My brother-in-law," continued Mrs. Delamere, "will 
 no doubt confide in me immediately on his return though 
 I may not be permitted to pass on my information. We 
 have family conclaves which we are obliged to restrict to 
 ourselves, of course. You must not be disappointed if you 
 hear nothing further from me." 
 
 * ' Oh, no, ' ' faltered Miss Amelia. ' ' Of course not ! " 
 
 "But I must say, at present, I can make neither head 
 nor tail of it," said Miss Argle. 
 
 "The affair certainly passes my comprehension," ac- 
 knowledged Miss Harriet. 
 
 Then came a faint murmur from Mrs. Chubb at the 
 back : ' ' Nypnotised ! ' ' 
 
 Pauline moved away from the group, saying hastily 
 as she went 
 
 "I'll go and get the pins. We are wanting some more." 
 
 "Oh! We have plenty," cried Mary Carter. 
 
 But Pauline was already through the door and running 
 breathlessly across the market place. She never stopped 
 once until she reached the little shop where Unwin had 
 once lodged. Then, for a moment, she was too much out 
 of breath to speak, so that the thin shop-woman had be- 
 gun a mechanical "And what can we . . ." before she 
 was able to gasp out : ' ' He is not going to die. He 's bet- 
 ter! He's coming home!" 
 
 "Thank God!" said the shopwoman. "And you ran 
 like this to tell me! Oh, Miss Westcott!" Then she swal- 
 lowed, her nose-end growing deeply pink, and yet neither 
 noticed that Unwin 's name had not been mentioned. "But 
 are you sure it's true?" 
 
 " Lord Southwater and Miss Lambert have gone to fetch 
 him from the boat," answered Pauline. 
 
 "Well, I don't care how he comes, or who fetches him,
 
 THE GREAT BAZAAR 311 
 
 so long as he comes back safe and well. Do you, Miss 
 Westcott?" 
 
 "No," said Pauline, and, indeed, for the moment her 
 relief was so intense like the strange joy of a man who 
 thinks he has committed a murder and finds himself inno- 
 cent that she did not care about anything else. 
 
 But before even the pins were bought, she began to see 
 through that dazzling joy to the certainty that Unwin 
 and Delia were lovers. She knew as she walked out and 
 felt humbled by the knowledge that her love was not so 
 selfless and beautiful as the love of that tall, thin woman 
 with a red nose behind the counter. And she saw, also, 
 dimly, that the dull world was crowded with unsuspected 
 beauty : there was no real need for escape from any place 
 when you could find the most delicate romance in a little 
 draper's shop in Wendlebury. 
 
 As she re-entered the Bazaar Hall, there was a hum 
 of excited voices which ceased when she appeared, and 
 then began again, talking about something quite different. 
 
 ' ' This art muslin for my stall is such a charming shade. 
 Where are the scissors? I do hope, Amelia, you have not 
 forgotten the string." 
 
 Thus the ladies of Wendlebury, until Pauline was in 
 the midst of them, and then the Vicar's wife said with 
 a sort of artificial surprise 
 
 "Oh, here you are back again! Did you get really 
 strong pins?" 
 
 So Pauline saw they knew everything, but were spar- 
 ing her feelings. And when she suggested that it was time 
 to return to Aunt Dickson they all said: "Oh, must 
 you ? ' ' regretfully, but with the air of jumping dogs about 
 to be unchained. 
 
 Two days later, the bazaar took place. The hall was 
 packed with people at a shilling a head. Palpitating 
 stall-holders, wearing powdered hair and black velvet hats,
 
 312 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 stood by their wares awaiting the arrival of Lord South- 
 water, who was to perform the opening ceremony. The 
 waitresses wore the velvet hats without the powder, and 
 hovered near the entrance to the long tea-room, while 
 Mrs. Delamere could be heard screeching above the dis- 
 creet tumult to Mrs. Bracegirdle: "My brother-in-law 
 Lord Southwater is sure to be punctual; he is the Es- 
 sence of Punctuality." 
 
 Then the big doors were held aside on either side by 
 the bazaar stewards. "Here he is!" sounded through the 
 forest of plumed hats, like a wind in Ryeford woods her- 
 alding the sunrise, and Lord Southwater entered, accom- 
 panied by Miss Delia Lambert and Mr. Maurice Unwin. 
 
 There was one instant's silence; then a strange, rushing 
 sound of everybody whispering urgently and excitedly to 
 the next person. Pauline drew a little further behind the 
 group of waitresses where she could see without being seen. 
 And it is not too much to say that she endured then, be- 
 neath her pretty feathered hat, among that group of 
 laughing girls, the supreme agony of her life. She felt 
 quite certain that she was then saying ' ' Good-bye ' ' to love 
 in this world. 
 
 "Unwin looks thin and ill, but Miss Lambert looks 
 flourishing. I always thought she was plain before," 
 said Mary Carter. 
 
 "Happiness is a great beautifier," said another girl. 
 "That Miss Lambert looks so awfully well, somehow: 
 in for anything." 
 
 "Now they're speaking to Miss Amelia," said Mary- 
 Carter. "Oh, dear! I do wish I could hear what they 
 are saying." 
 
 But, indeed, it was only a desultory conversation about 
 Unwin 's health, in which he took part absently, glancing 
 about him all the time in a restless fashion that made poor 
 Miss Amelia quite nervous. 
 
 "Poor young man, evidently shattered," murmured 
 Miss Amelia, as he moved away. The little lady felt drawn
 
 THE GREAT BAZAAR 313 
 
 to Delia in spite of herself, because they were so alike in 
 possessing a deep disinterestedness a rare, non-grabbing 
 attitude towards their fellow-men. "Are you making a 
 long stay in Y\ T endlebury ? " she asked politely, quite un- 
 aware of this bond between them. 
 
 "No," said Delia, "I'm going for a splendid holiday. 
 Old aunt fallen in, you know." 
 
 "Aunt fallen in?" said Miss Amelia, roused to startled 
 attention. 
 
 "Yes; her money, you know, which she had no power 
 to leave away from me, or she would have done," Delia 
 explained. "So I'm off to the South Sea Islands. I've 
 always longed to be in a place where even the fish are 
 scarlet and gold. Such a real change after grey Eng- 
 land." 
 
 "Delightful for your honeymoon, of course cheerful 
 colours most appropriate," began Miss Amelia, when she 
 saw Lord Southwater advance to the edge of the platform. 
 
 ' ' Ahem ! ' ' coughed he. 
 
 "Hush!" said everybody. 
 
 Then followed a short speech, exactly like all others 
 made by important persons on such occasions, but not 
 delivered quite in Lord Southwater 's usual style. It 
 might almost be imagined if such a thing were possible 
 of such a man in face of a Wendlebury audience that 
 he was nervous. And when he had finished, and every 
 one had clapped decorously, he did not either sit down 
 or go away. He stayed where he was, twirling his eye- 
 glass, and turning red about the forehead. 
 
 "Ahem!" he coughed again. "May I detain you for 
 a moment to er embrace the opportunity of congratu- 
 lating your fellow townsman, Mr. Unwin, on his recovery 
 and safe return ?" Absolute stillness fell. It was possible, 
 literally, to hear a hairpin drop, because Miss Amelia heard 
 one of her own do so, and was covered with confusion. 
 ' ' On my own behalf, ' ' continued Lord Southwater, ' ' I am 
 deeply grateful to Mr. Unwin that he has, after very great
 
 314 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 persuasion, consented to accept the post I have offered 
 him. I trust you will all join me in hoping that we may 
 spend many useful and happy years together." 
 
 "Hear! Hear!" said Mrs. Delamere in a very loud 
 tone, determined to show that she was in the move- 
 ment. "I support his lordship with all my heart." And 
 she so flashed her teeth upon everybody that there seemed 
 to be a perfect illumination in that part of the room. 
 
 Then the Wendlebury people surged round Unwin, con- 
 gratulating and shaking hands, very glad to be at liberty 
 to like him again as much as they wished, while Lord 
 Southwater stepped down from the platform with all 
 his usual pompous dignity. He had done justice to Un- 
 win, and could again regard himself as a just man; more 
 so than ever, seeing what he had done and endured in 
 order to remain just. 
 
 But a little later, when he wished to set the seal of public 
 favour on Unwin, he found that the heat had caused the 
 invalid to retire. 
 
 Unwin came running out of the hall, called to Chubb, 
 who waited for a fare, and jumped into the cab, shouting 
 excitedly 
 
 "Drive hell for leather down the Ryeford Road. Give 
 Griselda her head for once. A pound, if she beats the 
 record ! ' ' 
 
 "Sir!" said Chubb. But he immediately drove on, 
 feeling a deep sense of comfort that joy of the middle- 
 aged in finding things the same for here was Unwin, 
 gone to heathen parts and nearly dead, and yet come 
 back as flighty as ever. 
 
 But after passing Aunt Dickson's dear Aunt Dickson, 
 who sat jollily watching the world go by to the bazaar, 
 with a wave of the hand for every one Chubb turned to 
 make a polite remark. 
 
 "Did you " And he paused. "Gee up! Did you 
 
 off ens hear 'em play the banjo?"
 
 THE GREAT BAZAAR 315 
 
 "Who?" asked Unwin. "I say, do get on!" 
 
 "Why, them niggers," began Chubb. 
 
 "Stop!" cried Unwin. "No, go on till you catch Miss 
 Westcott up." 
 
 "Clop! Clop!" echoed Griselda's hoofs on the road 
 as if she were mutely marking time and begging him to 
 think again. 
 
 "Wo-ah!" called Chubb. 
 
 Pauline heard these sounds and glanced over her shoul- 
 der. She drifted a few steps towards them, then wavered, 
 hesitating; until that foolish shyness or reserve of hers 
 seized her and without sense, without reason she be- 
 gan to run away along the green edge of the lane. Her 
 footsteps made no sound on the damp grass, which pearled 
 her shoes with moisture. Heavy drops from overhanging 
 shrubs and bramble bushes fell on her dress and on her 
 hair. She could hear Unwin 's flying footsteps behind her, 
 and the heavy "Clop! Clop!" of Griselda's hoofs be- 
 hind, but she could neither pause nor turn. That some- 
 thing deep, instinctive, stronger than herself which had 
 made her escape from the bazaar caused her to still run 
 on. 
 
 At last she was spent. Her head swam. Her breath 
 failed. She had to lean, panting, with wide eyes, against 
 a birch tree. Its silver bark gleamed softly behind her, 
 the little, delicate branches whispered above, dropping 
 more pearls of moisture upon her. She tried to move a 
 step, but could not. Then she closed her eyes. 
 
 "Pauline!" she heard Unwin say lightly, though his 
 voice sounded hot and eager. "You must have been train- 
 ing for the Ladies' Running Championship since I was 
 away. ' ' 
 
 It was so different from anything she had expected 
 him to say that she opened her eyes and her head ceased 
 to swim. She put out her hand. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Unwin? I I hope you had a 
 pleasant voyage. Are you better?"
 
 316 THE GOSSIP SHOP 
 
 "Not yet," he said, keeping her hand. "I saw you 
 leave the bazaar. I guessed you would come up here." 
 
 "Did you?" she said, just glancing at him. But in 
 that brief glance she had seen how lined his face was 
 the face of a man, not a boy any longer though his 
 eyes were just the same. 
 
 He put his hand under her chin. 
 
 "Look me straight in the face, Pauline," he said, very 
 gently. 
 
 She looked, and he could see her shy spirit peering out 
 at him. 
 
 "Pauline!" he said. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 And he could see her spirit ready to dart away into 
 loneliness for the rest of her life. He had to reach that 
 and hold it before he held her dear body in his arms. 
 He was ready as ever to risk the half to possess the 
 whole. 
 
 "Will you take me on trust? Do you want me, Pau- 
 line?" 
 
 It was only a moment, but his world seemed to have 
 been hanging in the balance for an age by the time she 
 replied 
 
 ' ' Oh, how I 've wanted you ! ' ' 
 
 It was a little while before they began to realise that 
 they were still on the plain earth under an ordinary sky 
 that held a great deal of rain-water. And when Pauline 
 said: "Where's Chubb? It's starting to rain," Unwin 
 only kissed the wet splash on her cheek and they once 
 more forgot the weather. 
 
 At last, however, they were obliged to walk back to- 
 wards the cab. 
 
 "I think we will have it closed Miss Westcott's 
 dress " murmured Unwin; and even Griselda winked. 
 
 Then the cab rumbled slowly now along the familiar 
 road, and Chubb 's fares could see the grey rain drifting
 
 THE GREAT BAZAAR 317 
 
 like a curtain across the high spire and the red roofs of 
 "\Vendlebury. At last, round the edge of the cab a round 
 red face like a great sun came into their field of vision. 
 Chubb hung precariously from his box and they heard, 
 even through their blissful preoccupation, a sound like 
 nothing else on earth but Chubb chuckling. 
 
 "Ho! Ho!" he went, rolling in his seat. "You re- 
 member my joke, Mr. Unwin? The joke I made when 
 you stole my cab? It'll do again. Ho! Ho! It'll do 
 again. Caught her on the Ryeford Road!" 
 
 Griselda whinnied, throwing up her head and heels in 
 admiration, and no words could say more ecstatically: 
 "Hy Chubb!" 
 
 THE END
 
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