‘NO wedding!’ screamed Mrs. Dulcimer, putting down the old silver teapot and staring aghast into space. ‘No wedding?’ repeated the Vicar. ‘No,’ answered Kenrick, hoarsely, and with a hardness of manner which he maintained all through that painful day. ‘Beatrix has been fooling me all this time. She has written to tell me that she never loved me--and--at the last--it came into her head that she ought not to marry me without loving me. An afterthought. And she flings me fifty thousand pounds as a peace-offering. As you throw an importunate dog a biscuit, when you don’t want him to follow you.’ ‘It is most extraordinary,’ exclaimed the Vicar. ‘She was in such a hurry to pay off those mortgages before her marriage. I thought she was romantically in love with you.’ ‘You don’t understand,’ said Kenrick. ‘That was how she meant to make amends to me. She valued my love, my manhood, my self-respect at fifty thousand pounds. I am paid in full, she thinks, and I have no right to complain.’ ‘Women are an inscrutable species,’ said the Vicar. ‘I am a most unlucky woman,’ wailed Mrs. Dulcimer. ‘I took such a pride in bringing Kenrick and Beatrix together--such an excellent match--so well suited to each other--a large fortune--a fine position in the county--title--everything.’ ‘My love, it will not mend the matter for you to get hysterical,’ remonstrated the Vicar. ‘Where are you going, Kenrick?’ he asked, as Kenrick moved towards the door. ‘To the Water House. Where is Cyril?’ ‘He got an early cup of tea from Rebecca, and went round to see some of his old parishioners. He promised to be at the church before eleven.’ ‘A superfluous civility,’ said Kenrick. ‘No doubt he knew there would be no wedding.’ ‘Kenrick,’ remonstrated Mrs. Dulcimer, but Kenrick was gone. He walked down to the Water House faster than he had ever walked there in his life, though Love had lent him Mercury’s winged sandals. To-day rage and baffled love, and gnawing jealousy, drove him as fast as if they had been palpable scourges wielded by the Furies. Everything looked very quiet at the old house by the river. The butler came to the door. Miss Harefield had gone away with Madame Leonard at six o’clock that morning. The carriage had taken them to the railway station at Great Yafford. No one had gone with them but the coachman, and he had not left his box. The porters had carried the luggage into the station. Yes, there was a good deal of luggage. The big cases were to be sent to a furniture warehouse in London. The house was to remain in the care of the butler, and Mrs. Peters, the housekeeper. The servants were to be on board wages. Mr. Scratchell was to arrange everything. Mr. Scratchell came in while Sir Kenrick was questioning the butler. He too had received a letter from Beatrix, which he allowed Kenrick to read.