"Oh, it's not exactly my own." Iris' eyes were honest as well as gay.

"It was something Mrs. Carstairs said to me one day. _She_ is clever, you know--but her life has been made very unhappy."

Anstice, who had already wondered how much of Chloe Carstairs' history was known to the Waynes, glanced involuntarily at Sir Richard as Iris spoke the last words; and in the elder man's eyes he thought he saw a hint of trouble.

"I should judge Mrs. Carstairs to be a well-read woman," he said, endeavouring to change the subject while ostensibly pursuing it. "She has a good many books about her, though of course nothing like your collection here."

He glanced at the walls as he spoke, and Sir Richard took up the new topic easily.

"I don't know whether you are a reader, Dr. Anstice," he said, "but if so, and you're short of reading matter, don't hesitate to borrow some of our books. We've all sorts, eh, Iris?"

"Thanks very much. I'm not a great reader--haven't time; but your books look rather alluring," said Anstice, with a smile.

"We'll have a look round after tea," returned his host. "In the meantime pa.s.s your cup--this weather makes one thirsty."

After tea he rose and invited the younger man to scrutinize the shelves.

Somewhat to his surprise Anstice found that the Greengates collection of books was a most comprehensive one, whole sections being devoted to science, biography, travel and so on; and he was fortunate enough to discover two recent biological works, which, owing to their somewhat prohibitive price, he had hitherto been unable to obtain.

"Like to borrow those tomes?" Sir Richard had noted the expression in his guest's face as he handled the volumes. "Well, take them, and anything else you like. No, I confess I don't care much about books myself. Most of these were my father's choice--he was a bit of a student in his later years, and my sister likes to keep up with the times and lets the booksellers send down books as they used to do. But you're welcome to any of 'em, I a.s.sure you."

He led his guest round the room, pointing out one or two favourites of his own; and while they were thus engaged, Iris, who had been feeding three lively Airedales with sc.r.a.ps of cake, came up to Anstice with outstretched hand.

"Will you excuse me, Dr. Anstice? I must go and get ready for church--we have service early here, you know."

Immediately Anstice attempted to take his own departure, fearing he had outstayed his welcome; but Sir Richard positively refused to let him go.

"No, no, don't hurry away. Stay and keep me company for a little while--my man can easily run you over in the car presently."

So it came about that after watching Iris' departure the two men turned back into the house, where Sir Richard led his visitor to his own cosy smoking-room and handed him a cigar.

"Light up," he said genially, "and try that chair. Dr. Anstice, now that my little girl has left us, I want to say something to you--to ask you a question, in fact."

Rather taken aback, Anstice expressed his willingness to answer any questions his host thought fit to ask; and Sir Richard plunged at once into the heart of the matter.

"I understand from Iris that you have been attending the lady living at Cherry Orchard. Oh!"--as Anstice's eyebrows rose--"I'm not asking you to violate professional secrecy. I only wished to be sure that you knew the true position of Mrs. Carstairs in this neighbourhood."

A moment's reflection showed Anstice that this man would hardly be likely to permit his young daughter to visit Cherry Orchard unless his opinion of Mrs. Carstairs were favourable; and his voice was non-committal as he answered.

"I have heard Mrs. Carstairs' story from her own lips, Sir Richard. She was good enough to relate it to me at an early stage of our acquaintance," he said; and this time it was the other man's eyebrows which betokened surprise.

"Indeed! I didn't expect that, or I would not have spoken. I thought you had probably heard a garbled account of the whole horrible affair from some of the Pharisees down here; and since I and my daughter are honoured by Mrs. Carstairs' friendship I wanted to be sure you didn't allow the weight of local opinion to prejudice you in any way."

"It's awfully good of you." For once Anstice spoke spontaneously, as he might have spoken before that fatal day which had changed him into another and a less impulsive person. "I may take it, then, that you and Miss Wayne believe in Mrs. Carstairs?"

"I believe in her as I'd believe in my own girl," returned Sir Richard emphatically. "Mind you, Chloe Carstairs isn't perfect--we none of us are. She has her faults--now. She's cynical and cold, a bit of a _poseuse_--that marble manner of hers is artificial, I verily believe--but I'm prepared to swear she had nothing to do with those vile letters."

"You have known her long?"

"Since she was a child. Her father was one of my best friends, and I knew Chloe when she was a tiny baby girl all tied up with blue ribbons.

Carstairs met her first at my people's place in Surrey, and I was really pleased when he married the girl and brought her here."

"They lived here after their marriage?"

"Yes, for a short time only. Then they were off to India, and there they remained till her child was born, and she was faced with the old problem of the woman who marries a soldier."

"You mean--wife _versus_ mother?"

"Yes. Upon my soul, Anstice, I can't understand how a woman ever decides between the two claims. To hand over her baby to relations, or even strangers, must be like tearing the heart out of her bosom, and yet a woman wants her husband too--wants him especially when she is young--as Chloe was."

"Mrs. Carstairs decided for her child?"

"Yes. They kept her in India as long as they dared--longer than some people thought prudent--and then Chloe brought her home to the old place. Iris was at school then, but Chloe used to come in to see my sister and me frequently, and we congratulated ourselves that we'd got such a pleasant neighbour. You know Cherry Orchard is really the nearest house as the crow flies."

"I suppose it is; though I hadn't realized it. And then--the crash came?"

"Yes. When first those horrible letters began to fly about the parish they were put down as the work of some spiteful servant, dismissed for dishonesty, perhaps. But little by little Mrs. Carstairs' name began to be whispered in connection with them--no one knew how the rumour started, though I have always held the belief that the Vicar's wife herself was the first to suggest it."

"But Mrs. Carstairs and the woman were friends?"

"They had been--and in the first burst of friendship the foolish woman had poured out all her silly, sordid secrets to Chloe Carstairs, and then, possibly, repented having done so. They fell out, you see, and I suppose Mrs. Ogden, being a woman of a small and petty character herself, was only too ready to suspect her former friend. She swore, you know, that no one but Chloe could have known some of the details which were mentioned in the letters. I can't tell you how vile the whole thing was--and it was quite evidently the intention of the anonymous writer to drive Mrs. Ogden out of the parish by those libellous doc.u.ments."

"But the matter was thoroughly sifted? And there could be no evidence against Mrs. Carstairs?"

"Well, when things had gone on for some time in a desultory kind of fashion--a letter here, another there, and then an interval of a few weeks--there came a perfect avalanche of the things, and the Vicar, although he had really wished to hush the matter up, was advised to take steps to find out the culprit."

"Even then I don't see how Mrs. Carstairs could be suspected----"

"Well, in a matter of this kind, when once a woman's name has been mentioned, it is very hard for her to clear herself. At first, guided, I confess, by me, she refused to take any notice of the affair. In the end, of course, she had to come forward to clear herself of a specific charge."

"But what weight had the evidence against her?"

"Well, certain curious things happened. It was found that the letters were all written on a particular kind of paper affected by Mrs.

Carstairs for scribbling unimportant notes--household orders and so on--not by any means an uncommon paper, but still she was the only person in the village who bought it regularly. Then the handwriting, though it was scratchy and common-looking, did bear, in some words, a faint, very faint resemblance to hers; and once, when Chloe was away on a visit to Brighton, a letter came to the owner of Carr Hall, in the valley yonder, which had been posted at Hove. Then, as she may have told you, a trap was laid for her by some of the d.a.m.ned authorities"--he spoke heatedly--"she was supplied with marked paper; and sure enough the next letter which arrived was written on one of those identical sheets."

"But the servants--her servants would have had access to her paper?"

"Quite so; and that point was made much of by the defence. But when all the household was examined, it didn't seem a feasible theory that any of them was to blame."

"How many servants were there in the house?" Unconsciously Anstice's manner was that of a doctor interrogating a patient, and Sir Richard noted the fact with a quickly suppressed flicker of amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Four only. During Major Carstairs' absence Mrs. Carstairs wished to live quietly; and her staff consisted of a cook--a young Frenchman whose life Major Carstairs had once saved in a drunken brawl in Soho----"

"A Frenchman, eh?" Anstice habitually distrusted foreigners. "Mightn't he have been the guilty person?"

"He only knew enough English to discuss the _menu_ with his mistress,"

answered Sir Richard. "Chloe used to make us laugh by relating his mistakes; and even if he had wished to write the letters he could not possibly have done it. Besides, he returned to France for his military training in the very middle of all this, so he really can't be suspected."

"Well." In fairness Anstice could not condemn the Frenchman. "Who else was in the house?"