Their two chief employments, woven in, as it were, to the web of their church assistance, were Love and Mockery-flirtations, broken engagements, refusals, acceptances, and, on the other hand, jokes about everybody and everything. Maggie soon discovered that Grace was one of their favourite Aunt Sallies; this made her very angry, and she showed so plainly her indignation on the first occasion of their wit that they never laughed at Grace in Maggie's presence again. Maggie felt, after this, very tender and sympathetic towards Grace, until she discovered that her good sister-in-law was quite unaware that any one laughed at her and would have refused to believe it had she been told. At the same time there went strangely with this confidence an odd perpetual suspicion. Grace was for ever on guard against laughter, and nothing made her more indignant than to come into a room and see that people suddenly ceased their conversation. Maggie, however, did try this autumn to establish friendly relations with Grace. It seemed to her that it was the little things that were against the friendliness rather than the big ones. How she seriously blamed herself for an irritation that was really childish. Who, for instance, a grown woman and married, could do other than blame herself for being irritated by Grace's habit of not finishing her sentences. Grace would say: "Maggie, did you remember to-oh well, it doesn't matter--" "Remember what, Grace?" "No, really it doesn't matter. It was only that--" "But Grace, do tell me, because otherwise you'll be blaming me for something I ought to have done." "Blaming you! Why, Maggie, to hear you talk any one would think that I was always scolding you. Of course if that's what you feel--" "No, no, I don't. But I'm so careless. I forget things so. I don't want to forget something that I ought to do." "Yes, you are careless, Maggie. That's quite true. It's one of your faults." (Strange how willing we are ourselves to admit a fault and irritated when a friend agrees about it with us.) "Oh, I'm not always careless," said Maggie. "Often you are, dear, aren't you? You must learn. I'm sure you'll improve in time. I wonder whether-but no, I decided I wouldn't bother, didn't I? Still perhaps, after all--No, I daresay it's wiser to leave it alone." Another little thing that the autumn emphasised was Grace's inability to discover when a complaint or a remonstrance was decently deceased. One evening Paul, going out in a hurry, asked Maggie to give Grace the message that Evensong would be at 6.30 instead of 7 that day. Maggie forgot to give the message and Grace arrived at the Church during the reading of the second lesson. "Oh Grace, I'm so sorry!" said Maggie.