"Well, I am a little," acknowledged Miss Ronder. "But I shall go to bed
early and get a good night."

"You poor dear! I was afraid you'd be absolutely done up. Now, you're
_not_ to get up in the morning and I'll run about and do your
shopping for you. I _insist_. How's Mrs. Clay?"

"A little grumpy at having so much to do," said Ronder, "but she'll get
over it."

"I'm afraid she's a little ill-tempered at times," said Miss Stiles with
satisfaction. "I thought when I came in that she looked out of sorts.
Troubles never come singly, of course."

All was well now and Miss Stiles completely satisfied. She admired the
room and the Hermes, and prophesied that, after a week or two, they would
probably find things not so bad after all. She drank several cups of tea
and passed on to general conversation. It was obvious, very soon, that she
was bursting with a piece of news.

"I can see, Ellen," said Ronder, humorously observing her, "that you're
longing to tell us something."

"Well, it is interesting. What do you think? Falk Brandon has been sent
down from Oxford for misbehaviour."

"And who is Falk Brandon?" asked Ronder.

"The Archdeacon's son. His only boy. I've told you about Archdeacon
Brandon many times. He thinks he runs the town and has been terribly above