"Indeed!" Mrs Chadwick's tone expressed admiration. "Please put me down as an annual subscriber." Miss Simpson unbent. "I shall be delighted. It is a monthly pamphlet, issued at one penny." "That is not ruinous," murmured the prospective subscriber. "The village people could not afford more," Miss Simpson explained patiently. "They all like to read it. Occasionally some of their names are mentioned. They expect that." "I should be afraid," Mrs Chadwick remarked, surveying the editress seriously, "of letting myself in for a libel action in your place. It is so difficult to be personal without the sacrifice of truth, and refrain from giving offence. I am inclined to think a parish magazine must be a dangerous publication." "You haven't got the idea at all," Miss Simpson said acidly. "We only mention the things which reflect to the credit of the persons concerned, such as any little gift to the parish, or the participation in local entertainments, and such matters; and, of course, work done on committees. Mr Musgrave's name appears in its columns frequently." "Belle," said Mrs Chadwick, with one of her radiant smiles, "I insist upon seeing the _Parish Magazine_. How is it you have kept these things from me? It would amuse me immensely to read of Mr Musgrave's doings. He is so reticent about such things himself." The entrance of Mr Musgrave created a diversion. He came in in advance of Eliza with the tea; and Mrs Chadwick, watching with mercilessly observant glance, noted the fluttering agitation of the visitor, whose austere manner changed as surprisingly as the colour of the chameleon, and became immediately gracious, and demurely coy. Mr Musgrave's manner was not responsive. It suggested to Mrs Chadwick his attitude towards herself. "I have just been hearing terrible tales of the things you do, which gain you notoriety in the columns of the _Parish Magazine_," she said wickedly. "I am going to read up all the back numbers." John Musgrave did not smile. He crossed the room deliberately, and closed the window and fastened it--an act Miss Simpson witnessed with satisfaction. "So thoughtless of me," said Mrs Chadwick apologetically. "I always forget your dislike for fresh air." "I do not dislike fresh air," he returned gravely, "in its proper place." "What would you describe as its proper place?" she asked. "Out of doors," he answered, surprised that a clever woman should ask so obvious a question.