The little lady trotted briskly across the square, and guided her guests
to a quaint old house squeezed into one corner of it. Here she had been
born some sixty odd years before; here she had lived her life of
spinsterhood, save for an occasional visit to London; and here she hoped
to die, although at present she kept Death at a safe distance by
hygienic means and dietary treatment. The house was a queer survival of
three centuries, with a pattern of black oak beams let into a
white-washed front. Its roof shot up into a high gable at an acute
angle, and was tiled with red clay squares, mellowed by Time to the hue
of rusty iron. A long lattice with diamond panes, and geraniums in
flower-pots behind them, extended across the lower storey; two little
jutting windows, also of the criss-cross pattern, looked like two eyes
in the second storey; and high up in the third, the casement of the
attic peered out coyly from under the eaves. At the top of a flight of
immaculately white steps there was a squat little door painted green and
adorned with a brass knocker burnished to the colour of fine gold. The
railings of iron round the area were also coloured green, and the
appearance of the whole exterior was as spotless and neat as Miss
Whichello herself. It was an ideal house for a dainty old spinster such
as she was, and rested in the very shadow of the Bishop Gandolf's
cathedral like the nest of a bright-eyed wren.

'Mab, my dear!' cried the wren herself, as she led the gentlemen into
the drawing-room, 'I have brought Captain Pendle and Mr Cargrim to
luncheon.'

Mab arose out of a deep chair and laid aside the book she was reading.
'I saw you crossing the square, Captain Pendle,' she said, shaking his
hand. 'Mr Cargrim, I am glad to see you.'

'Are you not glad to see me?' whispered George, in low tones.

'Do you need me to tell you so?' was Mab's reply, with a smile, and that
smile answered his question.

'Oh, my dear, such a heavenly sermon!' cried Miss Whichello, fluttering
about the room; 'it went to my very heart.'

'It could not have gone to a better place,' replied the chaplain, in the
gentle voice which George particularly detested. 'I am sorry to hear you
have suffered from your alarm last night, Miss Arden.'

'My nerves received rather a shock, Mr Cargrim, and I had such a bad
headache that I decided to remain at home. I must receive your sermon
second-hand from my aunt.'

'Why not first-hand from me?' said