The Aveshams always had coffee, when it was fine, under the mulberry-tree, the fruits of which were destined to make the g—n, as Mrs. Collingwood would have preferred to express it. During lunch on this particular day Miss Fortescue had, in deference to Jeannie’s wish, kept silence about the picture, though when the exhibition was mentioned she had cast her eyes up to the ceiling with a gesture of passionate despair. Arthur had mentioned casually that Jack Collingwood had telegraphed to him to say that he would come to them next day for the Sunday, at which news Jeannie had laughed in a loud and meaningless manner, and Miss Fortescue’s eyes had been so glued to the ceiling that it seemed doubtful if she would ever detach them.

“It is such good manners to telegraph,[127]” said Arthur, “much more business-like. Don’t you think so, Aunt Em?”

“Extraordinary lapses—” began Miss Fortescue.

“Aunt Em,” said Jeannie, “you said you wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what?” asked Arthur.

“Nothing. I’m glad he is coming, Arthur; I’ve got several things to say after lunch. Wroxton is waking up.”

“Is it?” asked he, dubiously.

“Yes. Aunt Em, do have some paté.”

“Innocent birds,” said Miss Fortescue.

“Quite innocent. I’ll give you some.”

Miss Fortescue watched Jeannie helping her with an absent eye, which suddenly became attentive.

“No truffles, Jeannie,” she said; “I can’t bear truffles. Why they put them in paté I can’t think. It entirely spoils it.”

Jeannie laughed.

“The plot thickens,” she said. “As soon as you’ve finished eating the liver of diseased game, Aunt Em, we’ll go out.”

“Not diseased, dear,” said Miss Fortescue, earnestly, with her mouth full, “only[128] unwisely fed. They feed them on figs. How delicious! And how unwise!”

“How clever and how immoral!” said Jeannie, who had gone as a guest to the Ladies’ Literary union.

“That woman,” said Miss Fortescue, incisively, “thinks everything that doesn’t live in a close is immoral.”

“I’ve got a letter from ‘that woman,’ which I shall read you after lunch,” said Jeannie. “Poor Mrs. Collingwood is in a terrible state of mind.”

“She always is,” said Miss Fortescue. “She is always either deploring something or condemning something. Which does she do in your letter, Jeannie? A shade more paté, please.”

“She does both,” said Jeannie.

“I would give a hundred pounds,” said Arthur, “if I had it, to see Mrs. Collingwood tipsy.”

“It would do her a world of good,” said Miss Fortescue. “Her only chance of learning to forgive any one for drinking lies in drinking too much herself. I can not stand people who think that the miracle at Cana[129] consisted in water being turned into fruit syrup.”

“Don’t be profane, Aunt Em,” said Jeannie.

Aunt Em cast her eyes to the ceiling. She had finished her paté.

“I don’t know whom we are waiting for,” she observed.

“No one, dear, if you have finished,” said Jeannie. “Come out, Arthur. The revelations shall begin.”

Aunt Em had a horror of damp grass, even when only the soles of her strong boots rested on it, and she always had a rug spread by her chair, on which she could put her feet. Ripe mulberries from the tree not infrequently fell on it, and when Aunt Em got up she usually trod on them with her strong boots, and made an indelible stain. But her silence had been so thundery when Jeannie suggested that a piece of matting would do as well that no one had ventured again to propose any substitute for her valuable Persian rug.

“Now, Arthur,” said Jeannie, as soon as coffee had come, “I’m going to tell you and[130] Aunt Em all that has happened. Aunt Em, dear, don’t toss your head; you only know the less important piece of it.”

“Go on,” said Arthur.

“Well, it all began this morning. Aunt Em and I went to the Art Exhibition, and saw there a picture of me and Toby by Mr. Collingwood.”

Arthur stared.

“I thought you had never seen him,” he said.

“I didn’t think I had. But, apparently, he had seen me. Oh, there was no mistaking it. It was a picture of Toby shaking himself, and me keeping him off with a parasol. I remember it happening perfectly. I had on a new dress, as Aunt Em and I had been calling, and afterward we had tea down by the mill.”

“That’s not so terrible,” said Arthur.

“I know it isn’t; but that is not all. On the way out of the exhibition I met Miss Clifford carrying catalogues. When I told her I was surprised at seeing the picture, she was filled with such dismay that she dropped them all, and we picked them up together.[131] But before she dropped them she said, ‘But Colonel Raymond told me——’”

Jeannie suddenly burst into a peal of laughter.

“I know that man,” remarked Arthur. “He is like a person out of a book about the army by a lady. What did Colonel Raymond say?”

“You see, as I was picking up the catalogues,” continued Jeannie, “I could not help concluding that Miss Clifford was surprised that I was surprised because of something Colonel Raymond had said. So when we had finished I asked her what it was. And she told me.”

“Well?” said Arthur.

“Oh, Arthur, how dull you are!” said Jeannie. “He had said or hinted that I knew all about it—in fact, that I was engaged to Mr. Collingwood. He was kind enough to add that it was to be kept private for the present.”

There was silence for a moment. At last Miss Fortescue spoke.

“It was an ill day for the Aveshams,” she said, “when Colonel Raymond’s wife’s sis[132]ter’s husband’s sister married your mother’s brother’s cousin.”

“So that is what that infernal man meant,” said Arthur. “Yesterday evening, in the smoking-room of the club, I heard him say we were all very much excited about it. Then he stopped, and said he had nearly let it out.”

“Well, then, there is some hope yet,” said Jeannie. “Arthur, I want you to go there this afternoon, and tell him he is under a delusion. Mrs. Raymond was with him, so Miss Clifford said, when he announced it.”

“And may I tell him exactly what I think about him?” asked Arthur.

“Tell him what I think,” said Miss Fortescue; “I feel more strongly than you.”

“Oh, no,” said Jeannie. “What is the use of quarrelling with people? Just say he is mistaken. Oh, you might ask who told him. Of course he made it up.”

“Yes, that would be awkward,” said Arthur, appreciatively. “But read me Mrs. Collingwood’s letter.”

Jeannie took it from her pocket, and read:[133]

“The Close, Wroxton.

“Dear Miss Avesham: I can not express to you how shocked and horrified I am at what my son has done. I hurried home directly after I saw that terrible picture in order to write to you and assure you how entirely ignorant I was of the subject of the work which I knew Jack was going to send to the exhibition, and how entirely ignorant, I may add, I have been of him. I passed you and Miss Fortescue, I know, in the gallery, but I could not speak—I was too indignant. I am quite upset, and can neither think nor work.

“With much sympathy,
“Believe me,
“Yours truly,
“Margaret Collingwood.

“P.S.—I have written to my son expressing my views.”

“I should like to see her letter to her son,” said Miss Fortescue, grimly. “An awful woman. Why, you would think that he had committed an assault with violence on Jeannie, or had been garroting her.[134]”

Arthur took a telegram out of his pocket.

“He says he will be here before lunch,” he said, “as I want to play golf with him in the afternoon. I hope he won’t get the letter before he starts. Also I should like to see him open it.”

“I don’t suppose he would come if he got it first,” said Miss Fortescue. “It would make matters rather simpler if he didn’t.”

“Why?&............