"That is the way you spoil all your coats, Augustin," said his wife looking at him from behind. "I assure you, my dear, that boy is not well. Poor fellow, all alone at college with nobody to look after him--" "We have all had to go through that. I do not think it hurts him a bit," said the vicar, slowly removing his hands from his pockets in deference to his wife's suggestion. "Then what is it, I would like to know? There is certainly something the matter. Now I ask you whether he looks like himself?" "Perhaps he does look a little tired." "Tired! There is something on his mind, Augustin. I am positively certain there is something on his mind. Why won't you tell me?" "My dear--" began the vicar, and then stopped short. He was a very truthful man, and as he knew very well what was the matter with John he was embarrassed to find an answer. "My dear," he repeated, "I do not think he is ill." "Then I am right," retorted Mrs. Ambrose, triumphantly. "It is just as I thought, there is something on his mind. Don't deny it, Augustin; there is something on his mind." Mr. Ambrose was silent; he glared fiercely at the window panes. "Why don't you tell me?" insisted his better half. "I am quite sure you know all about it. Augustin, do you know, or do you not?" Thus directly questioned the vicar turned sharply round, sweeping the window with his coat tails. "My dear," he said, shortly, "I do know. Can you not imagine that it may be a matter which John does not care to have mentioned?" Mrs. Ambrose grew red with annoyance. She had set her heart on finding out what had disturbed John, and the vicar had apparently made up his mind that she should not succeed. Such occurrences were very rare between that happy couple. "I cannot believe he has done anything wrong," said Mrs. Ambrose. "Anything which need be concealed from me--the interest I have always taken--" "He has not done anything wrong," said the vicar impatiently. "I do wish you would drop the subject--" "Then why should it be concealed from me?" objected his wife with admirable logic. "If it is anything good he need not hide his light under a bushel, I should think." "There are plenty of things which are neither bad nor good," argued the vicar, who felt that if he could draw Mrs. Ambrose into a Socratic discussion he was safe. "That is a distinct prevarication, Augustin," said she severely. "I am surprised at you." "Not at all," retorted the vicar. "What has occurred to John is not owing to any fault of his." In his own mind the good man excused himself by saying that John could not have helped falling in love with Mrs. Goddard. But his wife turned quickly upon him. "That does not prevent what has occurred to him, as you call it, from being good, or more likely bad, to judge from his looks." "My dear," said Mr. Ambrose, driven to bay, "I entirely decline to discuss the point." "I thought you trusted me, Augustin." "So I do--certainly--and I always consult you about my own affairs."