John Bingham had actually attended morning ser-vice in the church the day before--Miss Mercer had seen him there--and yet on Monday he had broken faith with her, and now, at ten-thirty, he was engaged in planting out the contents of the capacious basket which Mrs. Lingard was doling out to him. And Mrs. Lingard was wearing her garden hat just as if the day was Thursday, Friday, or Saturday, when she was entitled to his services. And Mrs. Lingard had also been at church the previous day and had repeated the responses in her ordinary tone of voice, and without faltering, though beyond a doubt her heart had been full of this scheme of suborning a faithful, if somewhat weak, servant from his allegiance to the mistress who had an undisputed claim to his services the next day! Without a moment's hesitation Miss Mercer passed into the hall, opened the glass door beyond, and stood beside the guilty pair before either of them was aware of her presence. She saw that the man was planting asters--the finest aster cuttings she had ever seen. “John Bingham, are you aware that this is Monday morning?” she said in an accusing voice, and so suddenly that a cry of surprise--it may have been with guilt--came from Mrs. Lingard, and John Bingham let drop his trowel and wiped his forehead. “Good gracious, Lucy! Where did you drop from without warning?” cried the lady in the garden hat. “I am addressing John Bingham, madam,” said Miss Mercer in icy tones. “And once again I ask John Bingham what he means by being here when his place should be in my garden.” “I can easily explain, my good woman,” said Mrs. Lingard, lapsing, under the “madam” of the other, into the tone of voice she had found effective with the native servants in the West Indian island of St. Lucia when her husband had been stationed there. “I am not addressing you, madam,” said Miss Mercer hotly: her glacial period had passed and had given place to the volcanic--the suppressed volcanic. “I wish to be informed why this man--this traitor--this--this----” “Don't be a greater fool than you are by nature, my good creature,” said Mrs. Lingard. “But I might have known that you could be disagreeable over even such a trifle as my sending to John Bingham to assist me for an hour in planting out the asters which were only delivered this morning when they should have been here on Saturday. If I had not begged him to come to my help for a couple of hours the lot would have been spoiled. In justice to him I will say that he was very unwilling to come.” “And what does that mean, pray?” asked Miss Mercer sneeringly. “It means that he knew you better than I did,” responded Mrs. Lingard. “He has had more experience of your narrow-mindedness than I have had. Now, go on with your work, John. Don't mind her.”