"Father, _dear_," said Clara, crying for pity and rage over the hapless Lucy, yet careful of appearances: "Father _dear, don’t_ shout so! For goodness’ sake, let the old witch go, and don’t attract everybody’s attention. What ever _will_ the neighbours think! Here!" she said, thrusting on Mrs. Baines the umbrella she had brought and dropped on the garden path at the moment of the assault, "be off with you, you wicked old woman. It’s a mercy father ain’t killed you, he’s that strong. And if you’ve done any real harm to my sister, we’ll soon let you know and have you up before the courts, you _wicked old snivelling psalm-singin’ Methody_!" Mrs. Baines said nothing to this counter-attack. She drained the water from her plumes with her fingers, put her flopping bonnet as straight as was possible, pressed the water from her shoulders, and made some attempt to wipe her face with a handkerchief; and then, summoning all her strength and resolution (for in reality she was much shaken and near collapse), she walked firmly past them, uttering never a word, walked slowly down the garden path, turned to the right and contrived not to halt on her way back to the station till she was well out of their sight. They were a little over-awed by her dignity. It was decided—and Lucy when she could speak implored them to adopt this negative course—not to write to Roger, and as far as possible not to talk of this painful scene to any neighbour. But to keep it from country gossip was an impossibility. This, that, or the other farm servant had seen it, from the rafters of a barn in repair, from the stables, from the dairy window; and so the treatment old Mrs. Baines had served out to her former daughter-in-law became noised abroad, penetrated from the kitchen and still-room of Engledene House to its mistress’s dressing-room. A vague rumour of it even reached the African Department of the Foreign Office and Molyneux publicly shrugged his shoulders in Sir Mulberry Hawk’s room. The Carnarvons at Highclere heard a perversion of it—rather a humorous one—from one of their farmer tenants, and reconsidered their idea of asking Brentham and Mrs. Brentham over to a week-end party to relate some of their extraordinary experiences. The Vicar of Farleigh Wallop realized that something of the kind had occurred to interrupt his musings on the arrangements of the streets in Calleva Atrebatum, and when he drove over with Maud to make the acquaintance of his daughter-in-law—now convalescent and thankful to find the drum of the worst smacked ear had not been split—he was merely coldly polite and expressed very little interest in missionary questions. Indeed he took no interest in Christian Missions after 700 A.D. Up to that time he reckoned—more or less—they had been spreading the ideas of Imperial Rome, of Roman civilization.