"I have only lately come down from seeing Orchard," she said. "Oh, by the way, Dinah," she added, turning to the girl, "Vivian came back with you from Brighton?" "No," said Dinah crossly; "he had to see someone, and will not be back until late. I came home myself, and passed through the village to see Jerry making love to that horrid girl. And Jerry had the coolness to follow me." "Only to explain," urged Jerry. "Come, Dinah, don't be silly. I know the lady only a little; she is on one of the papers belonging to our editorial firm, and does the fashion column." "She might dress better, then," retorted Dinah crossly, and determined not to be appeased. "I saw cheapness in every line of her dress." "Ah," said Jerry artfully, "she cannot set off a dress like you." "Don't be silly," cried Miss Paslow, but smiled for all that. "What is this lady's name?" asked Beatrice. "Lady!"--Dinah tossed her head--"when her father is a shepherd, and, I dare say, a very bad one." "Miss Maud Carr is her name," said Mr. Snow, ignoring Dinah, much to her wrath. "Maud!" Beatrice remembered that this was also the name of Vivian's dead wife, and again wondered at the long arm of coincidence. "I know very little about it or her," said Jerry in an injured tone, "save that she writes about women's fashions. We have met at journalistic clubs in London, and, of course, when I saw her I passed the time of day with her." "You passed an hour," snapped Dinah, "and very pleasantly, I'm sure." "She's not a bit ashamed of her birth," continued Jerry, still ignoring Dinah as a punishment. "I never knew her father was a shepherd in London, but she confessed it to me here quite easily." "That's her artfulness," commented Dinah. "Why are you so curious about this woman?" she asked Beatrice. The girl shrugged her shoulders. "I am not curious," she denied; "but as I have just seen old Orchard, it is strange that his daughter should have been speaking to Jerry." "Not at all, Beatrice. Jerry is always fond of these painted, horrid women, who never pay for their dresses because they write for fashion papers. I should be ashamed to earn my living in that way.--Well"--she faced round to the impenitent Mr. Snow--"and what have you to say?" "Nothing," said Jerry crossly. "You are always nagging, Dinah." "After that!" cried Miss Paslow, looking up to see why the heavens did not fall. "Well, I'm--I'm----" Words failed her, and she turned her back. "I'm going home. All is at an end!" and she sped up the avenue, glancing back meanwhile on occasions to see if Jerry followed. But Jerry did nothing of the sort, and explained to Beatrice why he stood his ground. "Dinah needs a lesson," he said gravely. "You have no idea how she nags at me. I can't speak to any one without her getting into a pelting rage." "It shows how she loves you," said Beatrice soothingly.