ermissible" (Mrs.
Grant's sigh was a model of motherly affection) "for a mother to wish
to keep her son, her eldest born, to herself for a little longer. One
loses them so once they marry."

Mabel concealed a swift, rather bitter, smile. "I did not mean to
misconstrue anything," she said, "only just the other day I was thinking
that perhaps we did rather hamper Dick. He is twenty-seven, you know; it
is funny he has never wanted to marry."

"He is waiting for the right girl," Mrs. Grant sighed again.

"And if he happens to find her," thought Mabel to herself, there was no
use saying the words aloud, "we are to do our best to prevent him having
her. Poor old Dick." Her eyes waked to sudden, vivid affection as she
thought of him.

She ran downstairs presently, Mrs. Grant having retired to rest after
exertions, to meet Dick just coming in. He had done a round of visits
after his call at the Manor house. Visits which had included one to the
Rendles' cottage, where he had seen the principal figure of last night's
tragedy laid out, as her mother said, for decent burial, "even though it
baint a going to be Christian."

The girl had been dressed in something white; white flowers, great
beautiful-headed chrysanthemums, lay between her folded hands and
against her face. She had been a handsome girl, death had robbed her of
her vivid colouring, but it had given her in its stead something
dignified and withdrawn, a look of suffering and yet great peace.

Mrs. Rendle was more resigned too this morning; she had cried her heart
quiet through the night.

"Bridget is better so," she could confide to Dick as he stood looking
down at the girl, "the shame is done away with, sir, and God will look
to the sin. I hold there ain't much to fear there, even though they
won't bury her in the churchyard."

"No, I don't think there is much to fear," he agreed. "I am sorry about
the burial, Mrs. Rendle, I have tried to argue the matter out with the
vicar."

"Oh, that is not to be helped," she answered. "God will rest her soul
wherever she be. Miss Rutherford sent those flowers," she added, "she
was rare set agin Bridget to begin with, but she be softened down."

That brought the other tragedy which he had witnessed this morning back
to his mind. Not that he had really forgotten it. The picture of Joan,
her head high, her cheeks flushed, was one that had imprinted itself
very strongly upon his memory. He had given up trying to understand h