was a great shock."

They drew up opposite a draper's. Without replying, he
turned round in his seat, and contemplated the cloud of dust
that they had raised in their passage through the village.
It was settling again, but not all into the road from which
he had taken it. Some of it had percolated through the open
windows, some had whitened the roses and gooseberries of the
wayside gardens, while a certain proportion had entered the
lungs of the villagers. "I wonder when they'll learn wisdom
and tar the roads," was his comment. Then a man ran out of
the draper's with a roll of oilcloth, and off they went again.

"Margaret could not come herself, on account of poor
Tibby, so I am here to represent her and to have a good talk."

"I'm sorry to be so dense," said the young man, again
drawing up outside a shop. "But I still haven't quite understood."

"Helen, Mr. Wilcox--my niece and you."

He pushed up his goggles and gazed at her, absolutely
bewildered. Horror smote her to the heart, for even she
began to suspect that they were at cross-purposes, and that
she had commenced her mission by some hideous blunder.

"Miss Schlegel and myself." he asked, compressing his lips.

"I trust there has been no misunderstanding," quavered
Mrs. Munt. "Her letter certainly read that way."