During his visit to
Fildy Fe Manor, the liking had hardened into serious regard. He had been
surprised, rather distressed, to find how much less well-off they had
appeared here, at home, than when the Colonel had been on so-called
active service. It had also become plain to him--though he was not a man
to look out for such things--that the husband and wife were now on very
indifferent terms, the one with the other, and, on the whole, he blamed
the wife--and then, just before he had started for home again, had come
the surprising news of Colonel Crofton's death!

In her letter to one who was, after all, only an acquaintance, the
young widow had gone into no details. But, just by chance, Radmore had
seen a paragraph in a week-old London paper containing an account of the
inquest. Colonel Crofton had committed suicide, a result, it was stated,
of depression owing to shell-shock. "Shell-shock" gave Radmore pause. He
felt quite sure that Colonel Crofton had never--to use a now familiar
paraphrase--heard a shot fired in anger. The fact that his war service
had been far from the Front had always been a subject of bitter complaint
on the old soldier's part.

Radmore had written a sympathetic note to Mrs. Crofton, telling her the
date of his return, and now--almost without his knowing how and why--they
had become intimate, meeting almost daily, lunching or dining together
incessantly, Radmore naturally gratified at the admiration his lovely
companion--she had grown even prettier since he had last seen
her--obviously excited.

And yet, though he had become such "pals" with her, and though he missed
her society at his now lonely meals to an almost ridiculous extent,
Radmore would have been much taken aback had an angel from heaven told
him that the real reason he had sought to get in touch with Old Place was
because Enid Crofton had already settled down at Beechfield.

CHAPTER III

After Timmy Tosswill had been to the village shop and done his mother's
errand, he wandered on, his dog, Flick, at his heels, debating within
himself what he should do next.

Like most children who lead an abnormal, because a lonely, childhood, he
was in some ways very mature, in other ways still very babyish. He was at
once secretive and--whenever anything touched his heart--emotionally
expansive. To the indifferent observer Timmy appeared to be an
exceptionally intelligent, naughty, rather spoilt little boy, too apt
to take every advan