so
his housekeeper announced, and she was shown into a small square room
with a round table in the centre, and a vase of bronze chrysanthemums on
the table.

Trix sat down and began to try and arrange her ideas. She was by now
perfectly well aware that they were not only rather difficult to arrange,
but would be infinitely more difficult to express. She sighed once or
twice rather heavily, gazing thoughtfully at the bronze chrysanthemums
the while, as if seeking inspiration from their feathery brown faces. And
then the door opened and Father Dormer came in in his cassock, which he
always wore in the morning.

"It is an unexpected pleasure to see you, Miss Devereux," he said.
"Please sit down again."

Trix sat down, and so did Father Dormer.

"I only arrived yesterday," said Trix, "and I came over to see you this
morning because I wanted to ask you something rather particular." Trix
was feeling just a little nervous, she was also feeling that if she did
not open the subject immediately, it was quite possible that she might
leave the presbytery without having done so, despite all her preconceived
intentions.

"Yes," smiled Father Dormer. He was perfectly well aware that she was
feeling a trifle nervous.

"Well," said Trix, "it isn't going to be quite easy to explain, because I
can't mention names. But as it is a thing I can't make up my mind
about,--about the right or wrong of doing it, I mean,--I thought I'd ask
your advice."

"That is always at your service," he assured her as she stopped.

Trix heaved a little sigh. She leant forward in her chair, and rested her
hands on the table.

"Well then, Father, it's like this. I know something about someone which
another person doesn't know, and I think it is rather important that they
should know it. The first person doesn't know I know it, and mightn't
quite like it if they knew I knew it. Also I am pretty sure that they
don't want any one else to know it. But under the circumstances I think
I'm justified in telling the second person, because it isn't a thing like
a scandal, or anything like that. But the difficulty is, that in telling
the second person about the first person, I may either have to tell lies,
or disclose a secret about a third person, and that is a secret I have
promised not to tell. Do you think I ought to take the risk?"

Father Dormer listened attentively.

"Do you mind saying it again," he asked politely as she ended. There was
just the fain