"It wants thinking over, I know," said Grafton, taking no notice of his beginnings of sentences. "You can't decide this sort of thing in a hurry. If you and Mrs. Mercer will come and dine with us to-morrow night, you and I could have a friendly talk about it afterwards and see if there's anything to be done. Caroline will write Mrs. Mercer a note." The Vicar was on the doorstep, still striving for speech. Grafton said good-bye to him, and returned to the library. CHAPTER VI THE VICAR'S DECISION Grafton didn't tell Caroline to write her note of invitation to Mrs. Mercer until the next morning. It was sent to the Vicarage by hand, with instructions to the bearer to wait for an answer. Mrs. Mercer took it into her husband's study. In the ordinary way she would have done this with some expression of gaiety and pleasure, for she took such variations of life as happy surprises, and could be moved to excitement even by an invitation to a flower-show, with a garden party attached. But this time her face did not light up as she opened and read the note, and only the thought of the waiting messenger sent her to her husband's room at once. "Here is an invitation from Caroline for us to dine at the Abbey to-night," she said, with a grave face. "Do you wish me to accept it?" The Vicar was very busy. He looked up from his writing as if he could hardly detach his thoughts from what he was doing, and said: "What is to-night? Thursday. There's nothing on, I think. Yes, accept it." Then he turned to his writing again. Mrs. Mercer wrote her answer and sent it out. When she had done so she sat with a thoughtful look upon her face for some time, which gradually changed to one of decision. Then she went in to her husband's study again, and shut the door after her as if she meant to stay there. This was unusual. She was not made to feel herself welcome in that room in the morning hours. She was not to be made welcome now. The Vicar had left his writing-table and was walking up and down the room, with a look on his face that was not pleasant to see. It didn't grow any more pleasant as he saw her shut the door behind her with that air which meant that she had something serious to say to him. "My dear, you're just interrupting me in a train of thought," he said in an annoyed voice. "If you want to talk about anything do please wait until lunch time, or at least until the post comes. I shall have a few minutes to spare then." For answer she sat herself down in a high-backed chair which stood by the empty fireplace. "Albert," she said, "I must speak to you. Things are wrong with us all round, and I am kept out of it all. If I am to be a true wife to you, and stand by your side in all the difficulties and troubles which come to us with the people round, I ought to know what is going on, and not be kept in the dark, as you always keep me."