“You’ll be pretty late for supper, I expect, and neither of them like being kept waiting, so you’d better hurry. But you’d better remember to limp, because it will be all over the village tomorrow that you sprained your ankle and were crying on Edward’s shoulder.”

Clarice gave a much louder gasp.

“Susan-you wouldn’t!”

“I wouldn’t, but Mrs. Stone certainly will. I only hope she remembers the bit about the ankle. Goodnight!”

Edward had not waited. She had to run to catch him up. And then for all the notice he took of her, she might not have been there at all. It was only when they had turned in at the entrance to the Hall and his hand was already on the latch of Emmeline’s gate that he spoke.

“One of these days I shall probably murder that girl!” he said.

Susan felt a rush of warm agreement, very heartening and comfortable.

“What on earth was it all about?”

He gave an angry laugh.

“I’ve no idea! She seems to think she has a mission to interfere in my affairs, and I’m afraid I lost my temper.”

“It certainly sounded as if you had.”

He frowned there in the dark.

“How much do you suppose she heard-that old woman?”

“I don’t know. She isn’t deaf, so I suppose about the same as I did.”

“And that was?”

“Well, I opened the door, and there you were, being angry. I didn’t get any of the words-just that it was you, and that you weren’t-exactly pleased. And then Clarice bursting into tears and saying you frightened her.”

Edward’s voice came short and grim.

“She said a good bit more than that. I suppose you heard it all, and I suppose Mrs. Stone did too.”

“That’s why I made up the thing about her ankle. She is just the sort of girl who would cry if she hurt herself-at least I think she is. Anyhow lots of girls do, and I hoped Mrs. Stone would think that was why you were angry.”

Edward pushed open the gate and they went up the flagged path together. A pair of lambent green eyes watched them from under a rose bush. There was a plaintive mew and something warm and furry rubbed itself against one of Susan’s ankles. Edward said,

“The place is alive with cats. How many do you suppose Emmeline would have accumulated by now if it hadn’t been for the war?”

He stepped up into the porch, reached for the door knob, and said,

“For a first effort, and on the spur of the moment, you didn’t produce at all a bad lie, Susan.”

CHAPTER XV

Clarice remembered to limp. She was put to it to find a story that would account for being so far along the street as Mrs. Stone’s cottage, until it occurred to her how perfectly simple it would be to tell the truth and say that she had walked down as far as the splash to meet Edward Random.

“I turned my ankle. I’m not much good in the dark, I’m afraid. And we picked Susan up at old Mrs. Stone’s and all came along together. I was really quite glad of her arm as well as Edward’s.”

Miss Mildred sniffed.

“Emmeline spoils that old woman! Always sending her eggs, or apples, or something for her tiresome Betsey! And if you are not good in the dark, Miss Dean, you would do better not to go wandering about in it. At least that is my opinion.”

“I was hurrying because I was afraid I would be late.”

“Which you are!”

Miss Ora produced a handkerchief and a waft of eau-de-cologne. Mildred was going to be disagreeable. So unnecessary, so unpleasant. She attempted to create a diversion.

“Did Susan say that Betsey was any better? Dr. Croft was really anxious about her a couple of days ago.”

Miss Mildred sniffed again.

“Betsey Stone will outlive us all. Her mother waits on her hand and foot, and everyone spoils them. I don’t suppose Susan mentioned her. And if we’re to have any supper tonight, I think we had better get on with it. I have had to turn the gas out under the soup twice already.”

When supper was over Miss Mildred washed up and Clarice put Miss Ora to bed. There really was not the slightest reason why she should not take off her clothes and perform her ablutions without a nurse to help her, but she preferred to be helped, and when Miss Ora wanted something it was extremely difficult to prevent her from having her own way. Miss Mildred had given up the struggle many years ago. If Ora wanted to have a nurse she would go on producing one symptom after another until a nurse had been provided. It was a sinful waste of money, but it just had to be endured. When it came to Ora saying that half the income was hers, Mildred was obliged to admit defeat. It rankled, but at the price of taking over Ora’s bank book and Ora’s accounts she constrained herself to put up with the nurses who followed one another in an endless procession. None of them stayed for long, and only one had allowed herself to be bullied or cajoled into helping with the washing-up. A half-witted girl who had left after three days.

When Miss Ora was safely in bed Clarice came down holding an envelope in her hand.

“I just want to put this in the post. It won’t take me long.”

It is a time-honoured excuse. Miss Mildred took one glance at the envelope and decided that it was empty. If she had wanted to make someone believe that she was going to the post, she herself would have taken the trouble to fold a sheet of paper and put it inside. She gave her silent sniff and went on up to the sitting-room.

Clarice ran down the street to Mrs. Alexander’s. The letterbox was in the front wall of the shop, and the telephone-box beside it. She had quite forgotten that she was supposed to have a twisted ankle. She put the empty envelope into her pocket, slipped into the telephone-box, and rang up the south lodge. She must, she really must, see Edward and make him listen. If it were not for the fact that everyone in the village who had a telephone was on the same party line, she could have talked to him now. But you never knew who might be listening. Miss Sims, Dr. Croft’s housekeeper, was known to regard the telephone as offering an alternative programme to the radio, and so was Miss Ora-only of course she was in bed.

Clarice stood in the dimly lighted box and wondered whether she could not at least drop Edward a pretty strong hint. Only the worst of planning beforehand what you were going to say was that it hardly ever came off. Either you didn’t get it said at all, or you said too little, or too much.

At the south lodge Susan was talking about her work up at the Hall.

“Books can really get dustier than anything else in the world. I shall have to go into Embank and buy an overall. It’s the filthiest job. I should think most of those books haven’t been out of their shelves for the last fifty years. I’ve started at the window end with all the Victorian three-volume novels.”

Emmeline looked up from putting one of Amina’s kittens back into her basket.

“Jonathan always said the Victorians would come into their own again some day-he used to read them, you know. And he was right-look at Trollope on the wireless. Susan dear, are you quite sure it didn’t tire you going round to the Stones? When there were five eggs today, it did seem as if they were meant to have two of them. Unless-Edward, I didn’t think of it at the time, but could you have managed another?”

Her tone had not varied at all. Jonathan’s taste in fiction and Edward’s taste in food received the same sweet, half inconsequent attention. It was one of the things that he found reposeful. Past or present, eggs or novels, people or hens or cats, Emmeline just took them as they came, with food for the hungry, kindness for the hurt, tolerance for all.

At the moment the kitten was trying to get out of the basket again, and her attention had strayed to it before Edward could protest his lack of interest in a second egg. He was about to remark that old Mrs. Stone was a born sponger but if Emmeline liked to spoil her it was her own affair, when the telephone-bell rang from the back room and he got up, observed that Barr had said he would ring him up about an entry he hadn’t been able to trace, and went to take the call.