“Good gracious!” said Mr. Drybeck. “You don't mean it?”

“I do mean it. He actually boasted of it! Had the effrontery to tell me, when I demanded to know why my angel had yelped, and come limping into the house, that he had kicked him off one of the flowerbeds. I fairly exploded!”

Mr. Drybeck could believe it. The mere recollection of the outrage caused Mrs. Midgeholme's ample bosom to swell, and her rather florid complexion to assume an alarmingly high colour. He made soothing noises.

“I should have said a great deal more than I did if I hadn't been sorry for poor little Mavis!” declared Mrs. Midgeholme. “It wasn't her fault; though, if you were to ask me, I should say that she's a perfect fool not to put her foot down! However, if she likes to make a doormat of herself it's no concern of mine. But when it comes to ill-treating one of my Peekies it's a very different matter! Not one word will I speak to him until he's apologised, and so I told him. And if I were to go to The Cedars and find him there I should tell him exactly what I think of him, which would make things uncomfortable for Mrs. Haswell. So I'm not going.” She gave Ursula a hitch, tucking her more securely under her arm, and added: “What's more, it will serve him right if Mavis runs off with that Pole—not that I think she would, and I hope very much she won't do anything silly, because he hasn't got any prospects that I know of, besides being a foreigner. But there it is!”

“Pole?” repeated Mr. Drybeck blankly.

“Oh, don't you know him? He works at Bebside's, and lives in one of the row of cottages beyond you,” said Mrs. Midgeholme. “At least, he lodges there. Old Mrs. Dockray,” she added, for his further enlightenment.

“I fancy I have not met the young man,” said Mr. Drybeck, in a tone that gave little indication of his wishing to do so.