“There is an organ in the parish church,” said Miss Crewys, crocheting more busily than ever.  “I have heard no complaints of the choir.  Have you?”

“No, no; but—­besides music, there are so many other things,” he said dismally.  “She likes pictures, too.”

“It does not look like it, canon,” said Lady Belstone, sorrowfully.  She waved her handkerchief towards the panelled walls.  “She has removed the family portraits to the lumber-room.”

“At least the Vandyck has never been seen to greater advantage,” said the canon, hopefully; “and I hear the gallery upstairs has been restored and supported, to render it safe to walk upon, which will enable you to take pleasure in the fine pictures there.”

“I am sadly afraid that it is not pictures that poor Mary hankers after, but theatres,” said Miss Crewys.  “John has persuaded her, if persuasion was needed, which I take leave to doubt, that there is nothing improper in visiting such places.  My dear brother thought otherwise.”

“You know I do not share your opinions on that point,” said the canon.  “Though not much of a theatre-goer myself, still—­”

“A widow at the theatre!” said Lady Belstone.  “Even in the admiral’s lifetime I did not go.  Being a sailor, and not a clergyman,” she added sternly, “he frequented such places of amusement.  But he said he could not have enjoyed a ballet properly with me looking on.  His feelings were singularly delicate.”  “I am afraid people must be talking about dear Mary a good deal, canon,” said Miss Crewys, whisking a ball of wool from the floor to her knee with much dexterity.

Her keen eyes gleamed at her visitor through her spectacles, though her fingers never stopped for a moment.

“I hope not.  I’ve heard nothing.”

“My experience of men,” said Lady Belstone, “is that they never do hear anything.  But a widow cannot be too cautious in her behaviour.  All eyes are fixed, I know not why, upon a widow,” she added modestly.

“We do our best to guard dear Mary’s reputation,” said Miss Crewys.

The impetuous canon sprang to his feet with a half-uttered exclamation; then recollecting the age and temperament of the speaker, he checked himself and tried to laugh.

“I do not know,” he said, “who has said, or ever could say, one single word against that—­against our dear and sweet Lady Mary.  But if there is any one, I can only say that such word had better not be uttered in my presence, that’s all.”

“Dear me, Canon Birch, you excite yourself very unnecessarily,” said Lady Belstone, with assumed surprise.  “You are just confirming our suspicions.”

“What suspicions?” almost shouted the canon,

“That our dear Lady Mary’s extraordinary partiality for our cousin John has not escaped the observation of a censorious world.”

“Though we have done our best never to leave him alone with her for a single moment,” interpolated Miss Crewys.