She was late, and that was wrong of Mabel, she knew how it irritated her to have to wait. She needn’t have hurried so down from the village. That roof in Mrs. Cross’s cottage would have to be seen to, it was in a terrible state, she ought to have been told before. Would the next people take any trouble? But then that wasn’t settled yet. She was restless to-day, she hadn’t been able to settle down to anything, this thing had been weighing on her mind so. And there were the household accounts to do, she was late with them, and they should be interesting this month. Mrs. Lane would have been going through an orgy of waste, the affair with Herbert would be sure to make her careless. They would have to take sixpence off the income tax this time, things couldn’t go on as they were, and the papers were full of it. Of course, giving this up would save money, but then there would be no flowers and no horses. So much of one would go with it. Mabel was late, late. A motor. Ah, the Cadillac. Really, it was too bad of her, and it was not as if she ever had anything to do. Well, anyway, they could get down to business now. The door opened. “Mrs. Palmer.” “My dear Emily, I’m so sorry I’m late. You see, my dear, the Cadillac broke down on the way, so tiresome of it. How are you?” “Very well, thank you, Mabel dear; and you?” They lightly kissed. “I caught a nasty chill at the Owens’ dance, and I’ve only just thrown it off. My dear, such a bore! There are nothing but draughts in that house, you know how it is. I think they might let one have one window shut, don’t you? Emily, it is nice to see you, I haven’t come across you for a week.” “To tell you the truth, Mabel, I haven’t been about much this week. With the village and one thing and another I haven’t had a moment. I wanted to have a talk ...” The door opened. John came in. “Who is it?” “Mabel, John.” “How are you, John?” “Oh, is it you? I’m all right, thanks. How are things with you?” “Well, you know how it is dear boy, one irritating thing after another. Only this afternoon on the way here the inside of the car went wrong, so tiresome. We waited for hours while Jenkins tried to find out what was the matter. And while we were there guess who should come by at the most appalling speed, my dear, so that it was not safe for anyone.” Pause. “The young Vincent boy on his motor bike.” “Was he going fast?” “My dear boy, he shot by. I have never in all my life seen anything like it, you know.” “John, dear, would you mind leavin’ Mabel and me for a short time We want to have a talk.” “Then I shall see you at tea, Mrs. Palmer.” The door shut. “What has happened, Emily, nothing serious, my dear?” “Mabel, I wanted to talk over a very important matter with you. You see, it’s about John.” “What? He is not ill again or something?”