There had been a tremendous commotion at Belfield after Skelton had left the evening before, but Sylvia scarcely remembered a word of it next morning. The only fact her mind dwelt on was that Skelton loved her. One thing, though, Mrs. Shapleigh had promptly resolved before she had closed her eyes the night before, which was, that the trip to the Springs must be given up. Sylvia had landed the leviathan of the matrimonial pool, and Mrs. Shapleigh could not bear to tear herself away from the county in the first flush of her triumph. It is true it was not the custom in those days and in that region to announce engagements, but, nevertheless, Mrs. Shapleigh had no doubt it would get out, and had convincing reasons for so believing. Old Tom was far from objecting to the abandonment of the trip to the Springs. He was not particularly anxious to go himself, and it cost a pretty penny to transport Mrs. Shapleigh and Sylvia and the maid, and the coachman and two horses, nearly four hundred miles from the seaboard to the Alleghany Mountains, and it was destructive to the family coach and usually foundered the horses. When Sylvia was greeted at breakfast with the announcement that the trip to the Springs was off, naturally it did not grieve her in the least. Mrs. Shapleigh--good soul!--started upon a round of visits that very morning to give a number of extraordinary and purposeless reasons why the trip was abandoned, and everywhere she went she let the cat out of the bag, to old Tom’s infinite diversion, who went along. Newington was the last place they went to. Blair met them at the door with his usual cordiality, and squeezed Mrs. Shapleigh’s hand and ogled her as if she had been twenty-five instead of fifty--to Mrs. Shapleigh’s obvious delight, although she archly reproved him. The place, and the master and the mistress of it, looked more prosperous than for many years past; but close observers might see that Blair and his wife were not quite what they had once been; there was a little rift in the lute. Both of them, however, were genuinely glad to see the Shapleighs, who were among the best of friends and neighbours. Mrs. Blair asked after Sylvia, and then the murder was out. Mrs. Shapleigh began: “Sitting at home in the drawing-room, mooning with Richard Skelton. He was over there all yesterday during the storm, and one would think they had said everything on earth they could think of to each other, but evidently they haven’t. I can’t imagine what they find to talk about, for Richard Skelton never knows any news.--What ails you, Mr. Shapleigh?” “Nothing at all,” answered old Tom, grinning delightedly, “except that I’d like to see Richard Skelton’s countenance if he could hear you this minute.”