‘It’s positively ridiculous of him to hang back in this way,’ thought Mrs. Dulcimer, impatient for action. ‘But I have no doubt his silence is the result of shyness. Those reserved men are always shy. One gives them credit for pride, and they are suffering agonies of self-distrust all the time.’ It is generally some combination of trifles which determines the great events of life. Mrs. Dulcimer was hurried into a line of conduct more impetuous than sagacious by such a combination. First it was a wet afternoon, which fact prevented the Vicar’s wife going on a round of ceremonious calls, in her best bonnet. She might have trusted her own body out in the wet, leaving the accident of a cold in the head to be dealt with by Rebecca, who was a wonderful hand at domestic medicine, and made gruel that was almost a luxury; but she could not risk the destruction of her new velvet bonnet and bird of Paradise. Secondly, Mr. Dulcimer had gone to Great Yafford for a day’s leisurely prowl among the second-hand book-shops, a recreation his soul loved. His absence made the Vicarage seem empty, and the day longer than usual. Mrs. Dulcimer ate her early dinner alone, and felt miserable. After dinner she sent the boy to ask Bella Scratchell to come and spend the afternoon, and to bring her work. The fire was lighted in the library, so that the room might be warm and cheerful on the Vicar’s return; but Mrs. Dulcimer preferred her snug corner by the dining-room hearth, where she had a comfortable Rockingham chair, and a delightful little Chippendale table. She opened her charity basket, took out her pile of baby clothes, and felt that, with Bella to talk to, she could spend an agreeable afternoon, despite the incessant rain, which came down with a dismal drip, drip, on the sodden lawn, where the blackbirds were luxuriating in the unusual accessibility of the worm family. Bella’s rapid fingers were wont to be helpful too, with the charity basket. She would lay aside her dainty strip of embroidery, and devote herself to herring-boning flannel, or stitching in gussets, with the most amiable alacrity. ‘You dear girl, to come through this abominable rain and enliven me!’ exclaimed Mrs. Dulcimer, when Bella came in, looking very bright and pretty after her rainy walk. ‘I think I would come through fire as well as water to see you, dear Mrs. Dulcimer,’ replied Bella, affectionately. ‘I was going to sit with poor Mary Smithers this afternoon,--she is in a decline, you know, and so patient. Mr. Culverhouse is deeply interested in her. But of course I would rather come here----’ ‘You dear unselfish girl! And does Mr. Culverhouse seem pleased with what you are doing for his people?’ ‘Very much. His face quite lights up when he comes into a cottage and finds me there.’ ‘Ah!’ said Mrs. Dulcimer, significantly. ‘We all know what that means.’