‘Of course,’ assented Mrs. Dulcimer, ‘everything is talked about in Great Yafford. Though it is such a large town, it is almost as bad as a village for gossip.’ * * * * * Not at the Vicarage only, but at every tea table in Little Yafford the inquest at the Water House was the only subject of conversation. Though very few people, save those actually concerned, had crossed the threshold of the house during the inquiry, yet everybody seemed to know all about it. They knew what the butler had said, what Mr. Namby had said, what Beatrix and Bella had said--how each and every witness had looked--and the different degrees of emotion with which each particular witness had given his or her evidence. Opinions at present were distinguished by their vagueness. There was a general idea that Mr. Harefield’s death was a very mysterious affair--that a great deal more would come out at the next inquiry--that the butler and Bella Scratchell were both keeping back a great deal--that Beatrix and her father had lived much more unhappily together than anybody had hitherto suspected--that Beatrix, being of Italian origin on the mother’s side, was likely to do strange things. In support of which sweeping conclusion the better informed gossips cited the examples of Lucretia Borgia, Beatrice Cenci, and a young woman christened Bianca, whose surname nobody was able to remember. Late in the evening Cyril Culverhouse came to the Vicarage. He had promised to be there to hear the carol singers, in whom, as his own scholars, he was bound to be interested. He was looking pale and worried, and Mrs. Dulcimer immediately suggested a tumbler of Rebecca’s port wine ‘negus,’ a restorative which the curate obstinately refused. ‘I am a little anxious about your friend Miss Harefield,’ he said. ‘I have written to a London lawyer to come down here immediately and protect her interests.’ ‘And I have written to Mr. Mivers, of Great Yafford,’ said the Vicar. ‘She ought to be well looked after between us.’ ‘You were with her after the inquest, Mrs. Dulcimer,’ said Cyril, ‘How did she seem?’ ‘Dazed,’ exclaimed Mrs. Dulcimer, exactly as she had exclaimed before. ‘There is no other word for it. She reminded me of a sleep-walker.’ CHAPTER V. GLOOMY DAYS. MRS. DULCIMER called at the Water House after the morning service on Christmas Day. She found Beatrix alone, and very quiet, disinclined to talk of her grief, or, indeed, to talk about any subject whatever. Bella had gone to assist at the early dinner at the Park, or, in other words, to see that the juvenile Pipers did not gorge themselves with turkey and pudding. ‘You ought not to have let Bella leave you, my love,’ said Mrs. Dulcimer. ‘It is dreadful for you to be alone.’ ‘Dear Mrs. Dulcimer, Bella cannot do me any good. She cannot bring my father back to life, or explain the mystery of his death. I insisted upon her going to the Park to-day. I am really better alone.’