"Teresa will be glad to have you back--so much to do... The bell has been ringing all day long. Lovely flowers! A wreath of lilies from the Court. And there will be the cards... We shall have to draw one out. There _were_ no kind enquiries, so we can't thank for them. It was so sudden; only a few minutes. He called out for me--I went to him, and held his poor head. Teresa said I was kind. Of course I was kind! He called me `Margaret,' and then--in a minute... wasn't it only a minute, Teresa? he was gone!... Poor Henry! Poor Papa! The shock was too much... `Mrs and the Misses Mallison return warm thanks for kind sympathy in their sad and sudden bereavement,' something like that... They have a book at the stationer's, with a selection drawn out. I've seen them at the end of the Christmas mottoes. We'll telephone... The Vicar will be in again presently. Most attentive. He enquired for you, Mary. I said we had wired. He felt quite sure you would come. Mrs Evans sent a cross. Mrs Beverley's were coloured. Pale pink roses, and a note with them. Very feeling, I must say. Being an orphan herself, she can understand. Only cards from the Court. We've seen nothing of them this last year. The Squire's mother died, so they don't entertain, and Lady Cassandra and Mrs Beverley are always together. Of course, as I tell Teresa, she's so much younger. Teresa is looking thinner, Mary, isn't she? Quite slim. You haven't altered, my dear. I see no difference. I thought perhaps you'd have changed your hair.--No! Papa didn't speak of you specially; he hadn't time, but he spoke of his children,--something about ruining me and the children--he thought of us, not himself. I said to him, whatever he had done, he had done it for the best. Mr Hunter said the same thing this morning. He came in to offer to help. He is looking after the--er,... arranging for Thursday. Quite simple, I told him, but _good_. I could not bear to skimp for Papa. The dressmaker's coming at six..." Her face quivered and a stray tear rolled slowly down her cheek. "He looks so peaceful!... Afterwards--you must come up..." Mary shrank. She did not want to see the still, changed effigy of what had been; she wanted to remember her father as the quiet man who had kissed her on the doorstep, and said: "My dear, I hope you may have a pleasant time," but she had not the courage to refuse. She looked appealingly at Teresa, and saw a sudden wave of feeling sweep over the pale face. From without came the sound of wheels, a heavy, lumbering sound which to Chumley ears announced the advent of one of the venerable station flies. The next moment the bell rang, and a man's footstep was heard in the hall. "The Vicar!" murmured Mrs Mallison, but Mary knew it was not the Vicar; the look on her sister's face announced too surely the name of the new-comer.