is--she married again. Well--did no one ever hear of an old fool
that got married again?"

"That's nothing," said Miss Hawkins. "They'll marry again with the
rattle in their throats."

That tart was in the oven, and had to be remembered. Or else Aunt
Elizabeth Jane wanted to see no more of Mr. Wix. "I must be running back
to my cooking," said she. "But if this gentleman goes again to find out
Sappses, he's only got to ask for my niece at Number One, or Mrs. Wardle
at Number Seven, and he'll find Mrs. Prichard easy." She did not speak
directly to the man, and he for his part noticed her departure very
slightly, giving it a fraction of a grunt he wanted the rest of later.

Nor did Aunt Elizabeth Jane seem in a great hurry to get away when Miss
Hawkins had seen her to the door. She lingered a moment to refer to
Aunt's M'riar's talk of Widow Prichard. Certainly Mrs. Wardle at Number
Seven _she_ said nothing of any second marriage, and thought Prichard
was the name of the old lady's first husband, who had died in Van
Diemen's Land. Miss Julia paid very little attention. What business of
hers was Widow Prichard? She was much more interested in a couple of
policemen walking along the lane. Not a very common spectacle in that
retired thoroughfare! Also, instead of following on along the riverside
road it opened into, they both wheeled right-about-face and came back.

Miss Julia, taking down a shutter to reinstate The Pigeons as a tavern
open to customers, noted that the faces of these two were strange to
her. Also that they passed her with the barest good-morning,
forbiddingly. The police generally cultivate intercourse with
public-house keepers of every sort, but when one happens to be a lady
with ringlets especially so; even should her complexion be partly due to
correctives, to amalgamate a blotchiness. These officers overdid their
indifference, and it attracted Miss Julia's attention.

Aunt Elizabeth Jane thought at the time she might have mistaken what
she heard one of them say to the other. For, of course, she passed them
close. The words she heard seemed to be:--"That will be Hawkins."
Something in them rang false with her concept of the situation. But
there was the cherry-tart to be seen to, and some peas to boil. Only not
the whole lot at once for only her and Michael! As for that boy, she had
sent him off to the baker's, the minute he came back, to wait till the
bit of the best end of the neck was sure to be quite