Robinson shifted uneasily in his chair. He knew only too well that he
himself had driven a wedge between the two.

"Steynholme's a funny spot, sir," he contrived to explain. "Since it came
out that Doris an' Mr. Grant were in the garden at The Hollies at half
past ten on Monday night, without Mr. Martin knowin' where his daughter
was, there's been talk. Both the postmaster an' the girl herself are up
to it. You can see it in their faces. They don't like it, an' who can
blame 'em!"

"Who, indeed? But this Elkin--surely he had some ground for a definite
boast, made openly, among people acquainted with all the parties?"

"There's more than Elkin would marry Doris if she lifted a finger, sir."

"Can you name them?"

"Well, Tomlin wants a wife."

Winter laughed joyously.

"Next?" he cried.

"They say that Mr. Siddle is a widower."

"The chemist? Foreman of the jury?"

"Yes, sir."