It seems to be a fixed idea, tap-rooted into the very depths of the masculine mind, that it is the bounden duty of women to be in when they call, even if they have not thought fit to mention their flattering intentions. But some of us are ruefully aware that we might remain indoors twenty years without having our leisure interrupted. Janey had on many occasions waited indoors for Roger, but not since he had seen Annette home after the choir practice. "You never seem to be about nowadays," he said. "I was in the Hulver gardens." "Yes, so I thought I would come round now." Roger could extract more creaking out of one wicker garden chair than any other man in Lowshire, and more crackling out of a newspaper, especially if music was going on: that is, unless Annette was singing. He was as still as a stone on those occasions. "How is Aunt Louisa?" "Just the same." "Doctor been?" "No." "I was over at Noyes this morning about the bridge. Stirling gave me luncheon. I don't know where I'm going to get the money for it, with Aunt Louisa in this state. It's her business to repair the bridge. It's going to cost hundreds." Janey had heard all this before many times. She was aware that Roger was only marking time. "When I was over there," continued Roger, "I saw Bartlet, and he told me Mary Deane--you know who I mean?" "Perfectly." "I heard the child, the little girl, had died suddenly last week. Croup or something. They ought to have let me know. The funeral was yesterday." "Poor woman!" "She and the old servant between them carried the little coffin themselves along the dyke and across the ford. Wouldn't let anyone else touch it. I heard about it from Bartlet. He ought to have let me know. I told him so. He said he thought I _did_ know. That's Bartlet all over. And he said he went up to see her next day, and--and she was gone." "Gone?" "Yes, gone. Cleared out; and the servant too. Cowell said a man from Welysham had called for their boxes. They never went back to the house after the funeral. I ought to have been told. And to-day I get this," Roger pulled a letter out of his pocket and held it out to her. He lit a match, and by its wavering light she read the few lines, in an educated hand:-- "_I only took the allowance from you when Dick became too ill to send it, on account of Molly. Now Molly is dead, I do not need it, or the house, or anything of Dick's any more. The key is with Cornell.--M._" "Poor woman!" said Janey again. "It's a bad business," said Roger. "She was--there was something nice about her. She wasn't exactly a lady, but there really _was_ something nice about her. And the little girl was Dick over again. You couldn't help liking Molly." "I suppose she has gone back to her own people?" Roger shook his head.