The door opened slowly, and her smile died away, giving place to a touching, pathetic expression.  And then, instead of the tall, dark man she expected to see walk in, there advanced towards her a small, freckled-faced, fair-haired little boy—­Timmy Tosswill, the child whom she was already beginning to regard with something akin to real distaste.

But Enid Crofton was never unpleasant in manner to anybody, and she even forced herself to smile, as she exclaimed:—­“I was not expecting a visitor so late, but I’m very pleased to see you all the same, Master Timmy!  How wonderful that you should have been able to reach my knocker.  It’s placed so very high up on the door—­I think I must get it altered.”

“I didn’t knock,” said Timmy shortly, “it was my godfather who knocked, Mrs. Crofton.”

And when Radmore followed his godson into the room he was surprised, even a little touched, at the warmth of Mrs. Crofton’s greeting.

She put out both her hands, “I am glad to see you”—­and then she added, characteristically, for truth was not in her, “I was afraid you wouldn’t have time to look me up for ever so long!”

But though Radmore was pleased by her evident joy in seeing him, he looked at her with a curiously critical eye.  He was surprised to find her in a white frock—­inclined, even, to be just a little bit shocked.

And there was something else.  Enid Crofton had enjoyed the War—­she had admitted this just a little shamefacedly a week ago, when they two were having dinner together at the Savoy Grill, where she had been easily the prettiest woman in the room.  At the time he had felt indulgently that it was a good thing that someone should have gone through that awful time untouched by the pains and scars of war.  But now everything seemed different, somehow.  Beechfield was a place of mourning, and in a place of mourning this smiling, beautifully dressed, almost too pretty young creature looked out of place.  Still that wasn’t her fault, after all.

As the three sat down, Timmy upset the narrow oak stool on which he had placed himself with a great clatter, and Radmore suddenly realised that he had made a mistake in bringing the boy.  For the first time since his return to England he saw something like a frown gather on Mrs. Crofton’s face.  Perhaps, unlike most nice women, she didn’t like children?

“I’m awfully grateful to you for having told me about Beechfield,” she exclaimed.  “Although I’ve hardly been here a week, I do feel what a delightful place it is!  Everybody is so kind and friendly.  Why the very first day I was here I was asked to supper at Old Place—­and several people have left cards on me already.  What sort of a woman is Miss—­” she hesitated, “Pendarth?”

Timmy and Radmore looked at one another, but neither spoke for a moment.  Then Radmore answered, rather drily:—­“In my time, Miss Pendarth was the greatest gossip and busy-body within a radius of thirty miles.  She must be an old woman now.”