And sitting down on a stool beside the elder woman, Delia leant her head against her friend's knee caressingly. Gertrude gave an absent touch to the girl's beautiful hair, and then said-- "So you _will_ take these four meetings?" "Certainly!" Delia sprang up. "What are they? One at Latchford, one at Brownmouth--Wanchester--and Frimpton. All right. I shall be pelted at Brownmouth. But rotten eggs don't matter so much when you're looking out for them--except on your face--Ugh!" "And the meeting here?" "Of course. Can't I do what I like with my own house? We'll have the notices out next week." Gertrude looked up-- "When did you say that man--Mr. Winnington--was coming?" "His note this morning said 4:30." "You'd better see him alone--for the first half hour anyway." Delia made a face. "I wish I knew what line to take up. You've been no use at all, Gertrude!" Gertrude smiled. "Wait till you see him," she said coolly. "Mother-wit will help you out." "I wish I had anything to bargain with." "So you have." "Pray, what?" "The meeting here. You _could_ give that up. And he needn't know anything of the others yet awhile." "What a charming opinion he will have of us both, by and bye," laughed Delia, quietly. "And by all accounts he himself is a simple paragon.--Heavens, how tiresome!" Gertrude Marvell turned back to her letters. "What does anyone know about a _man_?" she said, with slow deliberation. The midday post at Maumsey brought letters just after luncheon. Delia turning hers over was astonished to see two or three with the local postmark. "What can people from _here_ be writing to me about?" Gertrude absorbed in the new weekly number of the _Tocsin_ took no notice, till she was touched on the shoulder by Delia. "Yes?" "Gertrude!--it's too amazing!" The girl's tone was full of a joyous wonder. "You know they told us at head-quarters that this was one of the deadest places in England--a nest of Antis--nothing doing here at all. Well, what do you think?--here are _three_ letters by one post, from the village--all greeting us--all knowing perfectly who you are--that you have been in prison, etcetera--all readers of the _Tocsin_, and burning to be doing something--" "Burning something?" interposed the other in her most ordinary voice. Delia laughed, again with the note of constraint. "Well, anyway, they want to come and see us." "Who are they?" "An assistant mistress at the little grammar-school--that's No. 1. No. 2--a farmer's daughter, who says she took part in one of the raids last summer, but nobody knows down here. Her father paid her fine. And No. 3. a consumptive dressmaker, who declares she hasn't much life left anyway, and she is quite willing to give it to the 'cause'! Isn't it wonderful how it spreads--it spreads!" "Hm"--said Miss Marvell. "Well, we may as well inspect them. Tell them to come up some time next week after dusk."