"You see, we heard from Helen this morning."

Young Wilcox was pouring in petrol, starting his engine,
and performing other actions with which this story has no
concern. The great car began to rock, and the form of Mrs.
Munt, trying to explain things, sprang agreeably up and down
among the red cushions. "The mater will be very glad to see
you," he mumbled. "Hi! I say. Parcel for Howards End.
Bring it out. Hi!"

A bearded porter emerged with the parcel in one hand and
an entry book in the other. With the gathering whir of the
motor these ejaculations mingled: "Sign, must I? Why
the--should I sign after all this bother? Not even got a
pencil on you? Remember next time I report you to the
station-master. My time's of value, though yours mayn't
be. Here"--here being a tip.

"Extremely sorry, Mrs. Munt."

"Not at all, Mr. Wilcox."

"And do you object to going through the village? It is
rather a longer spin, but I have one or two commissions."

"I should love going through the village. Naturally I
am very anxious to talk things over with you."

As she said this she felt ashamed, for she was
disobeying Margaret's instructions. Only disobeying them in