They drew their chairs closer together, like Macbeth’s witches over their reeking caldron. Mrs. Mince related Mrs. Primmer’s experiences, with certain embellishments of her own, doing abundant justice, as was to be expected, to the sinister aspects of the romance. When she had talked her fill, Mrs. Marjoy capped the tale with her own conclusions drawn from the Domremy incident. Indeed, the three ladies enjoyed themselves with much thoroughness that afternoon. No such sport had fallen to their barbs since a local farmer had been accused of starving his pigs, a very minor excitement. Christians they were in name, yet the spirit of imperial Rome still lingered in their bosoms. To have witnessed a combat between wild beasts and slaves was a display beyond the possibilities of the civilized arena. Indeed, the very mention of it would doubtless have inspired them with unctuous horror and strident indignation. Yet there was little difference in the main betwixt the tiger-hearted dames of Rome and these modern ladies, save that the latter were hypocrites, the former honest even in their depravity. The pagans gloated over agonies in the flesh, the Christians over agonies in the spirit. “What a scandal,” said the vicaress, with ill-concealed satisfaction, “if the affair comes to light!” “As it must,” said Mrs. Marjoy, viciously; “and young Strong coming forward as our member, too! Nice sort of legislator to frame laws for the country’s good. Is it generally known yet?” “My goodness! no,” quoth Mrs. Mince; “only Mrs. Primmer and ourselves are in the secret, so far as I can tell. The question is, what is to be done.” The mind of this most moral trinity waxed meditative over the problem. “I think Ophelia ought to be communicated with,” said the vicaress, after reasonable cogitation. “Certainly,” observed the doctor’s wife, creaking to and fro in her chair. “A matter of duty,” added Mrs. Mince. “And charity,” said Miss Snodley, looking over the rims of her gold pince-nez. They were all vastly serious over the business, exceedingly solemn, infinitely in earnest. The undercurrent of hypocrisy in their ethics did not seem to suggest itself to their minds. They were about to enjoy a triumph over a feminine autocrat, a woman disliked by reason of the superior comeliness of her person. “Ophelia Strong must be warned,” said the vicaress, speaking as the most religious woman in Saltire. “But by whom?” queried Miss Snodley. Mrs. Marjoy’s aggressive voice claimed the responsibility. “By us, of course,” she said. For a moment they stared at one another in silence. “How?” asked Miss Snodley, tentatively. “By letter,” said the doctor’s wife. “Anonymous, of course,” interposed Mrs. Mince, with hurried circumspection.