XXII. MR. BEVERLEY MOVES ON



CHAPTER I

Mrs. Stevens is Frightened


In the drowsy heat of the summer afternoon the Red House was
taking its siesta. There was a lazy murmur of bees in the
flower-borders, a gentle cooing of pigeons in the tops of the
elms. From distant lawns came the whir of a mowing-machine, that
most restful of all country sounds; making ease the sweeter in
that it is taken while others are working.

It was the hour when even those whose business it is to attend to
the wants of others have a moment or two for themselves. In the
housekeeper's room Audrey Stevens, the pretty parlour-maid,
re-trimmed her best hat, and talked idly to her aunt, the
cook-housekeeper of Mr. Mark Ablett's bachelor home.

"For Joe?" said Mrs. Stevens placidly, her eye on the hat.
Audrey nodded. She took a pin from her mouth, found a place in
the hat for it, and said, "He likes a bit of pink."

"I don't say I mind a bit of pink myself," said her aunt. "Joe
Turner isn't the only one."

"It isn't everybody's colour," said Audrey, holding the hat out