"No, my dear," said the vicar. "You could not tell me her name: all you had to go on was a voice, and I could hardly catechize him on that.

Besides, it may be a worthy attachment."

"Very possibly," agreed his wife, though her tone was skeptical. "I have no objections to that. But while he is at work ..."

"Awful word!" said Tony, for the sake of saying something. "I wonder what work is like--real continuous work, I mean."

"We can offer you plenty," said the vicar cheerfully. "The lawn wants cutting. You could trim the hedge, too, and----"

"No thanks," said Tony with a shudder. "Any other time I'd be glad, but just now I'm too busy."

"Of course, Mr. Wild, my husband was joking. But don't you think that an idle life...? Would not work--literary work, for example--be a good thing for a young man?"

"I'm too old to begin," said Tony wearily. "Now, a hearty young spark like my friend Bangs----"

The spark flickered into a feeble flame of protest and died away.

"You're wrong, Mr. Wild," said the vicar, taking his pipe out. "Work is the best thing. You'd realize it if you tried it. Of course, now you're on a holiday----"

"_Am_ I?" said Tony. "I'm a kind of bear-leader to Bangs. I'm simply full-up with work, looking after him--arranging schemes for his comfort--keeping him out of mischief. Aren't I, Bangs?"

Robert smiled in a deprecating way. "You--you exaggerate a little.

But--but----"

Mrs. Peters disliked the cynical frivolity Tony imparted to the conversation. "Would you mind telling us the nature of some of these arduous duties?" she asked coldly.

"Oh, there's a gay lot," said Tony, reflecting. "I've had to order lunch, for example: Bangs has no ideas. Then I organize walks ... and deal the hands at piquet in the evenings ... and ... by jove, yes! I promised to help him telephone to-day, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Not a bit," said the vicar, the sole possessor of a telephone in Shereling. He rose and stretched himself. "Come along now."

But Robert remained in his chair, looking decidedly uneasy. "No, no!" he said with a frightened manner. "It is nothing. It will keep for a day or two. There is really no necessity...." He began to stammer and blush, aware of the eye of Mrs. Peters.

"You promised!" said Tony reproachfully. Then turning to the lady he said, "Come, Mrs. Peters! You can't say that I lack energy now! Here am I, thirsting to get work, and old Bangs keeps me back. And only yesterday he said that nothing on earth should prevent him from at last--at long last----"

"All right," interrupted Robert, in terror of what Tony would say next.

"Come along! Come along! Where is the telephone, Mr. Peters?"

"In the dining-room," replied the vicar, wondering. "I'll show you the way."

They went into the house, leaving Mrs. Peters on the lawn, deeply stirred. "That man _has_ a past," she determined. "He looked simply terrified. I wonder if I ought to ask Charles.... I wonder if it would be right to.... And they are strangers ... one never knows...." She thought sternly for a moment and then got up, resolution in her countenance. "It's a duty," she murmured--"a positive duty. And Charles is so weak."

The martyr to duty was going to listen at the door.

CHAPTER XVIII

TONY AT WORK AND AT PLAY

If the telephone had been in the vicar's study Mrs. Peters might have watched in vain; for to acquire accurate information through a keyhole needs practise or unusually keen ears. But the vicar wanted perfect quiet to prepare his sermons, and it was agreed that the instrument should be placed in the dining-room. This suited Mrs. Peters admirably, for there was a dumb-waiter between that room and the pantry. Standing on the other side of the hatch (which she raised with caution a couple of inches) she could hear all that pa.s.sed, secure in the reflection that a screen concealed the hatch and butler's tray. This is what she heard as soon as the vicar had left the room.

"Mr. Wild, I _told_ you that I would rather not----"

"Duty, Bangs, duty! Remember that! You've allowed your unhappy wife to mourn----"

"No, no! I thought it better not to write just yet, in case----"

"Pure funk, and nothing else. No, Bangs; you _ought_ to let her know--you ought to have let her know before this. Besides, there's no danger: she can't spot where you are."

("Then there is a mystery!" reflected Mrs. Peters, warm with the satisfaction of a justified eavesdropping. "He has left his wife!")

"N--no ... but ..."

"Seriously, Bangs, you must telephone. Every day you delay brings a possible pursuit closer. Come now! Shall I ring up?"

"No, no! Wait half a minute while I think of something to say. How shall I begin? Shall I----"

"Oh, the usual sort of greeting from a husband to a wife: 'Good morning, little bunch of fluff!' Or, 'Cheeroh, beloved armful!' Any pet name--look here, you'd better let me----"

A confused sound hinted to Mrs. Peters that a struggle for the receiver was in progress. It ended speedily in a victory for Mr. Bangs. His voice quavered a number--"Bloomsbury, 843B." Mrs. Peters made a mental note.

"h.e.l.lo ... h.e.l.lo ... are you 843B? Yes?... Who's that? _h.e.l.lo!_ Who's that? Oh, it's you, Jane ... tell your mistress--_h.e.l.lo_! You silly girl, it _is_ me." ("She's had a fright, Mr. Wild. I ought to have broken the news more gently.") "What? Do speak up ... yes ... yes ...

you've sat down on the porcelain bowl on the hall table? Confound!...

what for? What _for_, you clumsy ... oh! I frightened you ... oh ... oh ... I see.... Well, go on.... Yes ... no, perhaps it wasn't altogether your fault ... yes.... All right ... all right, that's quite enough. I know you're sorry ... yes.... Tell your mistress I want to speak to her.... She's in the kitchen? Well, go and fetch her. Don't hang the receiver up. Yes ... yes....

"She's gone to fetch her, Mr. Wild!"

"The plot thickens, Bangs, I say, shall I take the receiver and telephone? Rather a lark, you know, your wife expecting you and hearing me instead."

"No, no!"

"I won't address her in terms of affection, if that's all you're afraid of. Besides, I should rather like to hear what she says to her peccant husband."

"Not for anything, Mr. Wild.... Hush! here she is.... Is that you, Alicia? _Wheeee! Wheee!_... I'm exceedingly sorry, my dear ... no, I wasn't laughing--something wrong with the wire.... Well, how are you?... That's good ... I do hope you haven't been worrying.... What?... Oh ... oh ... ah...." ("She says I'm not worth worrying about!" "Cover it UP, you fool! She'll hear you!") ... "Eh?... no ... n.o.body else here, my love ... quite alone--quite alone ... the wire...." ("What's that? Magnetic storm?") ... "Magnetic storm, Alicia! Plug's not firmly in, perhaps.... Well, you're all right, then? Anything else?... Oh, _me_! Oh, I'm in capital form.... What?... Yes, that's all.... What?... Oh, I thought I'd better ring up to let you know how I was getting on.... Yes ... yes ... I shall come back presently.... No ... no ... _absolutely_ no.... I can't possibly tell you my present address ... but you needn't worry.

I'm _quite_ all right ... eh?... No ... I'm not unfeeling--this is just my holiday. I shall be back in a few weeks. I send you my love.

Good-by."

"That do, Mr. Wild?"

"You might send a kiss, eh? Usual thing ... try again--I bet she's not left the wire."

"h.e.l.lo ... h.e.l.lo! You there, Alicia?... _Wheeee!_... I just rang up--_wheee_--to send you a kiss.... Good-by."

"So we've set her mind at rest, Bangs. You lost your funk pretty soon!"

"Well, Mr. Wild, somehow ... it's not quite the same thing talking to Alicia from a distance ... I felt quite brave!"

"Perfect hero!... Now we've settled that, let's go and find the dragon in the garden."