"Half a mo," said Flora and hurried over to the writing table. "I say, haven't these papers been moved?" "Yes, they have. My eye! it's exciting. What do you make of it?" "Something fishy." "Do you think--do you possibly think it's anything to do with Mr. Anthony?" Jane's eyes sparkled like jewels at the very thought of anything so adorable. "I bet it has," said Flora. "What else could it be?" "Might be just a rotten burglary." "Chuck it," said Flora. "Don't spoil a decent show." "I don't want to. But didn't she tell you Mr. Anthony had spoofed the crowd that were against him?" "Um! But they were a downey lot and p'raps after all they didn't buy the spoof." "Wouldn't it be terrific," exclaimed Jane, clasping her hands, "wouldn't it be terrific if there was a dust up down here and we were in it." "Shut up," Flora implored, "it's a jolly sight too good to be true. Better light the spirit lamp, the old lady'll be in to tea directly." The words were scarcely spoken before a shadow was cast across the floor and Mrs. Barraclough appeared at the window carrying a basket of roses. "Conybeare," she said, addressing the old Devonian gardener who was trimming the borders a few yards away. "Conybeare, I am going down to Mrs. Brassbound later in the evening. I want you to cut me a nice bunch of grapes and some vegetables--nice ones." The old fellow touched his cap and moved away. Mrs. Barraclough entered smilingly. "And I shall want the car, Flora." "It's all ready. I'll bring it round, madam." "There's no hurry. Aren't these roses delicious?" She buried her face in the orgy of pink, crimson and yellowy-white blooms. "Give me that bowl, my dear." And while she took a few from the basket and arranged them in the big silver bowl she continued pleasantly-- "I always wish I were a girl again when I pick roses. There's a sentiment about them--and perhaps a danger--a nice sort of danger. You know, it's very sad to reach an age at which danger no longer exists. By the way, a very singular thing happened to me on my way to the village. I was followed, Flora!" "Followed! But who'd dare?" said Jane. Mrs. Barraclough pouted pathetically. "Please don't say that," she begged. "It makes one feel so old. After all, there is no law to prevent one being followed unless it is the law of selection." "Who followed you?" asked Flora. "A man," replied Mrs. Barraclough with ceremony. "A very respectable man. He revived a sense of youth in me by wearing elastic sided boots." "What was his face like?" "In the circumstances, Jane, I kept my eyes discreetly downcast, but I had a fleeting impression of clerical broadcloth." "That man!" exclaimed Flora with sudden emphasis. "My dear, it is most unbecoming to speak disparagingly of a member of the clergy. As a girl the word curate inspired in me feelings of respect and sentiment."