What passed further between the two ladies need not detain us. It is enough to say that when Miss Tuttilow left the Vicarage she was under a solemn bond of secrecy; but, whether purposely or by accident, she quite omitted to inform Mrs. Sudlow that she had already informed two other "dear friends" of her brother's meeting with Mrs. Winslade, and of the remarkable likeness which he averred she bore to the wife of a notorious criminal. As time went on it seemed to Mrs. Winslade that people, even some of those she had known longest, were beginning to look upon her with changed eyes. At first she told herself that it was nothing more than fancy; but, before long, what had been a doubt deepened into a certainty. She could not be mistaken. Many with whom she had been on speaking terms for years now passed her with a curt nod, or a frigid bow, or even in some cases averted their eyes of set purpose, and made believe not to see her. Whenever an errand took her into the town she was aware that not infrequently people turned and stared at her, and sometimes whispered to one another, as if there was something about her which differentiated her from others of her sex. It was impossible for her any longer to doubt that her life's secret had become public property. She would not blame Mrs. Sudlow even in her thoughts; she would not believe that the Vicaress, notwithstanding the veiled hostility which had existed between them for years, would, knowingly and of her own free will, do her so ill a turn. But, indeed, it would have been a matter of small moment to her to be able to ascertain by what mischance the truth had become known. The situation was an intolerable one, for beneath that calm and equable exterior lay hidden a proud and sensitive spirit, which, now that its secret armour had been pierced, lay at the world's mercy. Iselford as a home was no longer possible to her; she must seek another elsewhere. "Where should she go but to London and keep house for her son?" demanded Phil, not without a show of reason, when the case was laid before him. She had given in her adhesion to the plan, but had not quite settled the date of her departure, when Phil came down to spend the week-end with her. Together they went to church on the Sunday morning, but, as they left after service was over, so unmistakable was the way in which they were avoided--it may be said shunned--by one group of whilom acquaintances after another, that, as they quitted the churchyard, Mrs. Winslade let her veil drop over her face, and Phil could feel that the arm resting within his was trembling. "My dear boy," she said presently with a pathetic quaver in her voice, "if you can arrange to stay over to-morrow I will go back with you. The furniture and other things can follow later on."