Dolly Tosswill, still standing, looked down at her audience.

“She’s quite unlike what I thought she would be,” she began.  “For one thing, she’s quite young, and she’s awfully pretty and unusual-looking.  You’d notice her anywhere.”

“Did you meet her in the post-office?” asked Betty.

“No, at church.  She only arrived this morning, and she said she felt so lonely and miserable that when she heard the bell ring she thought she’d go along and see what our church was like.”

“Oh, then she’s ’pi’?” in a tone of disgust from Rosamund.

“I’d noticed her in church, though she was sitting rather back, close to the door,” went on Dolly, “and I’d wondered who she was, as she looked so very unlike any of the Beechfield people.”

“How do you mean—­unlike?” asked Tom.

“I can’t explain exactly.  I thought she was a summer visitor.  And then something so funny happened—­”

Dolly was sitting down now, and Betty handed her a cup of tea, grieving the while to see how untidy she looked with her hat tilted back at an unbecoming angle.

“What happened?”

“Well, as we came out of the church together, all at once that old, half-blind, post-office dog made straight for her!  He gave a most awful howl, and she was so frightened that she ran back into the church again.  But of course I didn’t know she was Mrs. Crofton then.  I got the dog into the post-office garden and then I went back into the church to tell her the coast was clear.  But she waited a bit, for she was awfully afraid that he might get out again.”

“What a goose she must be”—­this from Jack.

“She asked if she were likely to meet any other dog in the road; so I asked her where she lived, and then she told me she was Mrs. Crofton, and that she had only arrived this morning.  I offered to walk home with her, and then we had quite a talk.  She has the same kind of feeling about dogs that some people have about cats.”

“That’s rather queer!” said Tom suddenly, “for her husband bred wire-haired terriers.  Colonel Crofton sold Flick to Godfrey Radmore last year—­don’t you remember?”

He appealed to Betty, who always remembered everything.

“Yes,” she said quietly, “I was just thinking of that.  Colonel Crofton wrote Timmy such a nice letter telling him how to manage Flick.  It does seem strange that she should have that feeling about dogs.”

Again Timmy’s shrill voice rose in challenge.  “I should hate my wife not to like dogs,” he cried pugnaciously.

“It’ll take you all your time to make her like you, old man,” observed Tom.

“I’ve asked her in to supper to-night,” went on Dolly, in her slow, deliberate way, “so we shall have to have Flick locked up.”

“Whatever made you ask her to supper, Doll?” asked Jack sharply.

Jack Tosswill had a hard, rather limited nature, but he was very fond of his home, and unlike most young men, he had a curious dislike to the presence of strangers there.  This was unfortunate, for his step-mother was very hospitable, and even now, though life had become a real struggle as to ways and means, she often asked people in to meals.