“What may one see?” asked the vicar quickly.

“I did not say one could see anything,” answered his wife.  “But from your manner I infer that there really is something to see.  Wait a minute—­what can it be?”

“Nothing—­my dear, nothing,” said the vicar desperately.

“Oh, Augustin, I know you so well,” said the implacable Mrs. Ambrose.  “I am quite sure now, that it is something I have seen.  Deny it, my dear.”

The vicar was silent and bit his long upper lip as he marched up and down the room.

“Of course—­you cannot deny it,” she continued.  “It is perfectly clear.  The very first day he arrived—­when you came down from the Hall, in the evening—­Augustin, I have got it!  It is Mrs. Goddard—­now don’t tell me it is not.  I am quite sure it is Mrs. Goddard.  How stupid of me!  Is it not Mrs. Goddard?”

“If you are so positive,” said the vicar, resorting to a form of defence generally learned in the nursery, “why do you ask me?”

“I insist upon knowing, Augustin, is it, or is it not, Mrs. Goddard?”

“My dear, I positively refuse to answer any more questions,” said the vicar with tardy firmness.

“Oh, it is no matter,” retorted Mrs. Ambrose in complete triumph, “if it were not Mrs. Goddard of course you would say so at once.”

A form of argument so unanswerable, that the vicar hastily left the room feeling that he had basely betrayed John’s confidence, and muttering something about intolerable curiosity.  Mrs. Ambrose had vanquished her husband, as she usually did on those rare occasions when anything approaching to a dispute arose between them.  Having come to the conclusion that “it” was Mrs. Goddard, the remainder of the secret needed no discovery.  It was plain that John must be in love with the tenant of the cottage, and it seemed likely that it would devolve upon Mrs. Ambrose to clear up the matter.  She was very fond of John and her first impression was that Mrs. Goddard, whom she now again suspected of having foreign blood, had “led him on”—­an impression which the vicar had anticipated when he rashly resolved not to tell his wife John’s secret.  She knew very well that the vicar must have told John his mind in regard to such an attachment, and she easily concluded that he must have done so on the previous evening when John called him into the study.  But she had just won a victory over her husband, and she consequently felt that he was weak, probably too weak to save the situation, and it was borne in upon her that she ought to do something immediately.  Unhappily she did not see quite clearly what was to be done.  She might go straight to Mrs. Goddard and accuse her of having engaged John’s affections; but the more she thought of that, the more diffident she grew in regard to the result of such an interview.  Curiosity had led her to a certain point, but caution prevented her from going any further.  Mrs. Ambrose was very cautious.  The habit of living in a small