“Has Mrs. Crofton settled down at The Trellis House yet?”

“She’s arriving to-day, I believe.  When she first thought of coming here she wrote John such a nice letter, saying she was a friend of yours, and that you had told her about Beechfield.  Luckily, The Trellis House was to let, so John wrote and told her about it.”

Then, at last, came a more intimate question.  The man’s voice at the other end of the telephone became diffident—­hesitating:—­“Are you all right?  Everything as usual?”

She answered, drily.  “Everything’s quite as usual, thank you.  Beechfield never changes.  Since you were last here there have only been two new cottages built.”  She paused perceptibly, and then went on:—­“I think that Timmy told you that Betty was with the Scottish Women’s Hospital during the war?  She’s got one of the best French decorations.”

Should she say anything about George?  Before she could make up her mind she heard the words—­“You can’t go on any longer now.  Time’s up.”  And Radmore called out hastily:—­“Till Friday then—­so long!”

Janet Tosswill hung up the receiver; but she did not move away from the telephone at once.  She stood there, wondering painfully whether she had better go along and tell Betty now, or whether it would be better to wait till, say, lunch, when all the young people would be gathered together?  After all Betty had been nineteen when her engagement to Godfrey Radmore had been broken off, and so very much had happened since then.

And then, in a sense, her mind was made up for her by the fact that a shadow fell across the floor of the hall, and looking up, she saw her old friend and confidant, Dr. O’Farrell, blocking up the doorway with his big burly body.

“D’you remember Godfrey Radmore?” she asked as their hands met.

“Come now, you’re joking surely.  Remember Radmore?  I’ve good cause to; I don’t know whether I ever told you—­” there came a slight, very slight note of embarrassment into his hearty Irish voice—­“that I wrote to the good fellow just after the Armistice, about our Pat.  That the boy’s doing as well out in Brisbane as he is, is largely owing to Radmore’s good offices.”

Mrs. Tosswill was surprised, and not quite pleased.  She wondered why Dr. O’Farrell had not told her at the time that he was writing to Godfrey.  She still subconsciously felt that Godfrey Radmore belonged to Old Place and to no one else in Beechfield.

“I didn’t know about Pat,” she said slowly.  “But you’ll be able to thank him in person now, for he’s coming on Friday to stay with us.”

“Is he now?” The shrewd Irishman looked sharply into her troubled face.  “Well, well, you’ll have to let bygones be bygones—­eh, Mrs. Toss?  I take it he’s a great man now.”

“I don’t think money makes for greatness,” she said.

“Don’t you?” he queried drily.  “I do!  Come admit, woman, that you’re sorry now you didn’t let Betty take the risk?”