raint. She did not know what
to do.

"Charles says do you want the Times?"

"No, I'll read it later."

"Ring if you want anything, father, won't you?"

"I've all I want."

Having sorted the letters from the circulars, she went back to the
dining-room.

"Father's eaten nothing," she announced, sitting down with wrinkled
brows behind the tea-urn.

Charles did not answer, but after a moment he ran quickly upstairs,
opened the door, and said "Look here father, you must eat, you know;"
and having paused for a reply that did not come, stole down again. "He's
going to read his letters first, I think," he said evasively; "I dare
say he will go on with his breakfast afterwards." Then he took up the
Times, and for some time there was no sound except the clink of cup
against saucer and of knife on plate.

Poor Mrs. Charles sat between her silent companions terrified at
the course of events, and a little bored. She was a rubbishy little
creature, and she knew it. A telegram had dragged her from Naples to
the death-bed of a woman whom she had scarcely known. A word from her
husband had plunged her into mourning. She desired to mourn inwardly as
well, but she wished that Mrs. Wilcox, since fated to die, could have
died before the marriage, for then less would have been expected of her.
Crumbling her toast, and too nervous to ask for the butter, she remained
almost motionless, thankful only for this, that her father-in-law was
having his breakfast upstairs.

At last Charles spoke. "They had no business to be pollarding those elms
yesterday," he said to his sister.

"No, indeed."

"I must make a note of that," he continued. "I am surprised that the
rector allowed it."

"Perhaps it may not be the rector's affair."

"Whose else could it be?"

"The lord of the manor."

"Impossible."

"Butter, Dolly?"

"Thank you, Evie dear. Charles--"

"Yes, dear?"

"I didn't know one could pollard elms. I thought one only pollarded
willows."

"Oh no, one can pollard elms."

"Then why oughtn't the elms in the churchyard to be pollarded?" Charles
frowned a little, and turned again to his sister.

"Another point. I must speak to Chalkeley."

"Yes, rather; you must complain to Chalkeley."

"It's no good his saying he is not responsible for those men. He is
responsible."

"Yes, rather."

Brother and sister were not callous. They spoke thus, partly because
they desired to keep Chalkeley up to the mark--a healthy desire in