‘_Mrs. Thornburqh!_’ And not a word for him, for him to whom she had given her promise? She had gone to Whinborough to avoid him, and she had gone in the brusquest way, that it might be unmistakable. The young man stood with his hands thrust into the pockets of his long coat, hearing with half an ear the remarks that Mrs. Leyburn was making to him about the picnic. Was the wretched thing to come off after all? He was too proud and sore to suggest an alternative. But Mrs. Thornburgh managed that for him. When he got back he told the vicar in the hall of Miss Leyburn’s flight in the fewest possible words, and then his long legs vanished up the stairs in a twinkling, and the door of his room shut behind him. A few minutes afterward Mrs. Thornburgh’s shrill voice was heard in the hall, calling to the servant. ‘Sarah, let the hamper alone. Take out the chickens.’ And a minute after the vicar came up to his door. ‘Elsmere, Mrs. Thornburgh thinks the day is too uncertain; better put it off.’ To which Elsmere from inside replied with a vigorous assent. The vicar slowly descended to tackle his spouse, who seemed to have established herself for the morning in his sanctum, though the parish accounts were clamoring to be done, and this morning in the week belonged to them by immemorial usage. But Mrs. Thornburgh was unmanageable. She sat opposite to him with one hand on each knee, solemnly demanding of him if _he_ knew what was to be done with young women nowadays, because _she_ didn’t. The tormented vicar declined to be drawn into so illimitable a subject, recommended patience, declared that it might all be a mistake, and tried hard to absorb himself in the consideration of _2s. 8d. plus 2s. 11d. minus 9d_. ‘And I suppose, William,’ said his wife to hint at last, with withering sarcasm, ‘that you’d sit by and see Catherine break that young man’s heart, and send him back to big mother no better than he came here, in spite of all the beef-tea and jelly Sarah and I have been putting into him, and never lift a finger; you’d see his life _blasted_ and you’d do nothing--nothing, I suppose.’ And she fixed him with a fiercely interrogative eye. ‘Of course,’ cried the vicar, roused; ‘I should think so. What good did an outsider ever get by meddling in a love affair? Take care of yourself, Emma. If the girl doesn’t care for him, you can’t make her.’ The vicar’s wife rose the upturned corners of her mouth saying unutterable things. ‘Doesn’t care for him!’ she echoed, in a tone which implied that her husband’s headpiece was past praying for. ‘Yes, doesn’t care for him!’ said the vicar, nettled. ‘What else should make her give him a snub like this?’ Mrs. Thornburgh looked at him again with exasperation. Then a curious expression stole into her eyes. ‘Oh, the Lord only knows!’ she said, with a hasty freedom of speech which left the vicar feeling decidedly uncomfortable, as she shut the door after her.