Mrs Merrivale is a surprise. The Vicar figures on the church board as the Reverend John C. Merrivale, but she has her cards printed, "Mrs J. Courtney Merrivale," and she calls him "Jacky" in public. She is very young--twenty-two or three at the most--and has a very long neck and a pretty little face, with huge pale-blue eyes, and a minute mouth with coral-pink lips. She is dressed in cheap clothes made in the latest fashion, and she asks questions all the time, and doesn't wait for an answer. When you tell her a definite fact, such as that you have been planting tulips in the garden, she says, "Not really!" or as a change, "Fancy!" or "Just think!" _He adores her_. Every time he meets her eyes, his grave, strong face softens and glows in a way which makes one feel inclined to cry. Lonely women feel so _very_ lonely at such moments as these! She contradicts him over the most futile things, and says, "No, Jacky, it was three o'clock, not four; I was just getting up from my rest," and he smiles, and doesn't mind a bit. They had tea, but refused fruit, with an air of being rather outraged by the offer. Mrs Merrivale surreptitiously studied the details of Charmion's tea-gown, and the Vicar and I laboured assiduously at conversation. I had liked him so much on Sunday, and had hoped he would be a real friend; but--things didn't go! I had a miserable feeling that he had paid the call as a matter of duty, that he disapproved of us, that he dreaded our influence on his precious little goose of a wife. There was certainly a restraint in his manner. _Everybody_ seemed restrained in this funny little place. I wonder if it was something in the air! Having made mental notes concerning the tea-gown, Mrs Merrivale next turned her attention to the room, and stared around with frank curiosity and a barely concealed envy. "Your room looks so pretty. Jacky, that's exactly the material I wanted for our curtains. You have beautiful china. I'm collecting, too; but"--she gave an expressive shrug. "Of course, this room lends itself; it is so big, and get's _all_ the sun. You remember, Jacky"--she looked at her husband with widened eyes--"Mr Maplestone called it a `Sun Trap'." It seemed an innocent enough remark, but the Vicar's grave assent implied a deeper meaning. Mrs Merrivale sighed, and elaborately lengthened her chin. "Uplands is so _bleak_. General Underwood feels the cold so much. All the windows of the entertaining rooms seem to look the wrong way." "He should have some more put in, facing the sun," Charmion suggested in her regal way, and Mrs Merrivale looked as much aghast as if she had suggested pulling down the whole house and building it afresh. I burst hastily into the conversation. "I think I met General Underwood the other day. In a bath-chair. I was glad that he was well enough to get out. I hope he will soon be quite well." The Vicar said gravely:--