arked out a straight line for
herself, and took everything that came in her way with a sort of
foolhardiness which made a trifle of big hedges or yawning ditches, and
all the time she was saying to herself, 'I will never forgive him,
never!' She had given her whole heart to Nigel Christopherson, and
believed that he had given his to her. And now he was at Hulworth with
Mrs. Avory, and Mr. Lawrence was touring the country in his big red
motor-car telling everybody about it.

Mrs. Wrottesley heard the story from her maid, who had it from Miss
Abingdon's butler, and she told it to her mistress when they were
counting charity blankets together in Mrs. Wrottesley's bedroom. The
canon was away from home, and Mrs. Wrottesley was having a few
uninterrupted days in which to do her work, without calls upon her to
come and admire Canon Wrottesley. The story was received very quietly
by her. She sat a full minute without saying anything at all, and then
she finished counting the blankets. When that useful task was over
Mrs. Wrottesley began to speak. This was a much more unusual event
with her than with most people, and what made it more forcible was that
she began to speak deliberately and with intention.

'I am going to stay at Hulworth,' said Mrs. Wrottesley. 'Pack my box,
please, and order the carriage to be round in half an hour.'

She drove over to Hulworth, her plain and rather austere face showing
very little expression upon it, and she reached the big ugly house to
find Toffy sitting over a smouldering fire in the drawing-room, his
hair rumpled up from his forehead and his head buried in his hands, and
Mrs. Avory upstairs still suffering from slight concussion of the brain.

There are times when the strong arm of a man is the one needful and the
one serviceable thing in the world; but there are times again when it
is only a strong woman who is wanted, or who is capable of a certain
sort of work.

'I don't know how you ever thought of coming,' said Toffy, looking at
her with eyes which were about as full of perplexity and helplessness
as a young man's could well be. 'I thought of writing to Peter, but
after all this is his last time with Jane, and I have no relations
myself, and I couldn't ask Lawrence not to say anything, because that
would have given away the whole show.'

'I think I can settle everything satisfactorily with Mr. Lawrence,'
said Mrs. Wrottesley. 'Mr. Lawrence is proverbially ill-natured in