?"

"Thank you, but I have had a little beer."

"It is one of the shepherds," said Mrs. Failing, in low tones.

Agnes smiled rather wildly. Mrs. Lewin had warned her that Cadover
was an extraordinary place, and that one must never be astonished at
anything. A shepherd in the drawing-room! No harm. Still one ought
to know whether it was a shepherd or not. At all events he was in
gentleman's clothing. She was anxious not to start with a blunder, and
therefore did not talk to the young fellow, but tried to gather what he
was from the demeanour of Rickie.

"I am sure, Mrs. Failing, that you need not talk of 'making' people come
to Cadover. There will be no difficulty, I should say."

"Thank you, my dear. Do you know who once said those exact words to me?"

"Who?"

"Rickie's mother."

"Did she really?"

"My sister-in-law was a dear. You will have heard Rickie's praises, but
now you must hear mine. I never knew a woman who was so unselfish and
yet had such capacities for life."

"Does one generally exclude the other?" asked Rickie.

"Unselfish people, as a rule, are deathly dull. They have no colour.
They think of other people because it is easier. They give money because
they are too stupid or too idle to spend it properly on themselves.
That was the beauty of your mother--she gave away, but she also spent on
herself, or tried to."

The light faded out of the drawing-room, in spite of it being September
and only half-past six. From her low chair Agnes could see the trees by
the drive, black against a blackening sky. That drive was half a mile
long, and she was praising its gravelled surface when Rickie called in a
voice of alarm, "I say, when did our train arrive?"

"Four-six."

"I said so."

"It arrived at four-six on the time-table," said Mr. Wonham. "I want to
know when it got to the station?"

"I tell you again it was punctual. I tell you I looked at my watch. I
can do no more."

Agnes was amazed. Was Rickie mad? A minute ago and they were boring each
other over dogs. What had happened?

"Now, now! Quarrelling already?" asked Mrs. Failing.

The footman, bringing a lamp, lit up two angry faces.

"He says--"

"He says--"

"He says we ran over a child."

"So you did. You ran over a child in the village at four-seven by my
watch. Your train was late. You couldn't have got to the station till
four-ten."

"I don't believe it. We had passed the village by four-seven. Agnes,
hadn't we passed the