“It was most awfully clever; she only wrote it after I left last night and she hadn’t time to post it, of course, but she gave it to the old apple-woman—you know, down by the tower—and right under her father’s nose, and he hadn’t the least idea, and I’ve written back because I mayn’t, perhaps, get a word with her this afternoon, and old Morelli will be there.” He sat on the edge of the stone wall, looking down at the town and swinging his legs. The town was in a blaze of sun, seen dimly through a haze of gold-dust. It hung like a lamp against the blue sky, because the mist gathered closely about its foundations, and only its roofs and pinnacles seemed to swing in the shifting dazzling sun before their eyes. “The old apple-woman,” said Tony, “is simply ripping, and I think she must have had an awfully sad life. I should like to do something for her.” There were at least ten people a day for whom he wanted to do something. “I asked Bannister about her, but he wasn’t very interested; but that’s because his smallest baby’s got whooping-cough. He told me yesterday he simply whooped all night, and Mrs. Bannister had to sit up with it, which pretty well rotted her temper next day.” Tony paused with a consciousness that he was wandering from the point. “Anyhow, here’s her letter, Janet’s, I mean. I know she wouldn’t mind you seeing it, because you are in it almost as much as I am.” He held out the letter. “Did Morelli see her give it to the apple-woman?” asked Maradick. “Yes, she tells you in the letter. But he didn’t spot anything. He’s such a funny beggar; he seems so smart sometimes, and then other times he doesn’t see anything. Anyhow, it doesn’t matter much, because I’m going to see him now and tell him everything.” “Well; and then?” said Maradick. “Oh! he’ll agree, I know he will. And then I think we’ll be married right at once; there’s no use in waiting, you know, and there’s a little church right over by Strater Cove, near the sea, a little tumbledown place with a parson who’s an awful sportsman. He’s got five children and two hundred a year, and—oh! where was I?—and then we’ll just come back and tell them. They can’t do anything then, you know, and father will get over it all right.” Tony was so serene about it, swinging his legs there in the sun, that Maradick could say nothing. “And if Morelli doesn’t take to the idea?” he ventured at last. “Oh! he!” said Tony. “Oh, he’s really most awfully keen. You noticed how we got on. I took to him from the first, there was something about him.” But he swung round rather anxiously towards Maradick. “Why! do you think he won’t?” he said. “I’m not sure of him,” Maradick answered. “I never have been. And then I was with Punch this morning and he told me things about him.” “Things! What sort of things?” asked Tony rather incredulously.