the letter, surely. Margaret had only warned her against
discussing the incident with outsiders. Surely it was not
"uncivilized or wrong" to discuss it with the young man
himself, since chance had thrown them together.

A reticent fellow, he made no reply. Mounting by her
side, he put on gloves and spectacles, and off they drove,
the bearded porter--life is a mysterious business--looking
after them with admiration.

The wind was in their faces down the station road,
blowing the dust into Mrs. Munt's eyes. But as soon as they
turned into the Great North Road she opened fire. "You can
well imagine," she said, "that the news was a great shock to
us."

"What news?"

"Mr. Wilcox," she said frankly. "Margaret has told me
everything--everything. I have seen Helen's letter."

He could not look her in the face, as his eyes were
fixed on his work; he was travelling as quickly as he dared
down the High Street. But he inclined his head in her
direction, and said, "I beg your pardon; I didn't catch."

"About Helen. Helen, of course. Helen is a very
exceptional person--I am sure you will let me say this,
feeling towards her as you do--indeed, all the Schlegels are
exceptional. I come in no spirit of interference, but it