‘How often did you see Mr. Harefield?’ ‘Not very often, I confess.’ ‘Not often enough for your observations of him to be worth much. Dead! It is very awful. When did it happen?’ Mr. Namby proceeded to relate all he had heard at the Water House; and for once in his life he found Cyril Culverhouse a patient listener. ‘And Miss Harefield? How does she bear the shock?’ ‘She is very quiet. She seems stupefied. The whole thing was so sudden. She and Miss Scratchell dined with Mr. Harefield yesterday evening. There was nothing to show that he was ill or agitated, or in any way different from his usual self.’ ‘Who is with Miss Harefield?’ ‘Only Miss Scratchell and the servants. That excellent Miss Scales is away in Devonshire, with an ailing relation; but she is expected back daily.’ ‘She ought to be summoned at once. I’ll call at the Vicarage and ask Mrs. Dulcimer to go to the Water House.’ He turned back with Mr. Namby, and they walked together towards the Vicarage, which was at the other end of the village street. Mr. Namby turned into his own garden gate, and left Cyril to go on alone to the Vicarage. Mr. Culverhouse had no exalted opinion of Mrs. Dulcimer’s good sense, but he highly estimated her good nature, and he could think of no one better whose friendship he could appeal to on Beatrix Harefield’s behalf. Mrs. Dulcimer was warmly attached to Beatrix. She would be overflowing with kindliness and sympathy in this hour of trouble. The Vicar was in his library, Mrs. Dulcimer in the dining-room with Rebecca, allotting little heaps of warm clothing as Christmas gifts for her poor parishioners. The dining-table was covered with neatly made flannels and linsey petticoats. Mrs. Dulcimer and Rebecca were folding and smoothing the little packages, and admiring their own work, for Rebecca’s needle was as busy as her mistress’s in this benevolent labour. Rebecca withdrew respectfully, at the curate’s entrance, and Cyril told Mrs. Dulcimer what had happened at the Water House. She interrupted him continually with questions and exclamations; but he got through his story somehow. ‘Poor dear child!’ cried Mrs. Dulcimer, when she had heard all; ‘coming into that fine estate; poor Mr. Harefield’s mother was a Pynsent, you know, and all the Pynsent property goes with the Harefield estate, and under such shocking circumstances. What a pity she hasn’t a husband to protect her interests! I shouldn’t wonder if the property were thrown into Chancery. If your cousin Kenrick had only been wise now----’ ‘What do you mean, Mrs. Dulcimer?’ ‘He might have been owner of the finest property in the West Riding. He might have been Beatrix’s husband by this time.’ ‘I think the lady would have been entitled to a voice in the matter,’ said Cyril, ‘however wise my cousin Kenrick might have been.’