Mrs. Burlacombe. [With covert malice] Aw!  I du hope ’twon’t upset the Rector, an’ ’is fute so poptious!

Mrs. Bradmere. [Grimly] His foot’ll be sound enough to come down sharp.  By the way, will you send me a duck up to the Rectory?

Mrs. Burlacombe. [Glad to get away] Zurely, m’m; at once.  I’ve some luv’ly fat birds.

     [She goes into the house.]

Mrs. Bradmere.  Old puss-cat!

     [She turns to go, and in the doorway encounters a very little,
     red-cheeked girl in a peacock-blue cap, and pink frock, who
     curtsies stolidly.]

Mrs. Bradmere.  Well, Tibby Jarland, what do you want here?  Always sucking something, aren’t you?

[Getting no reply from Tibby Jarland, she passes out.  Tibby comes in, looks round, takes a large sweet out of her mouth, contemplates it, and puts it back again.  Then, in a perfunctory and very stolid fashion, she looks about the floor, as if she had been told to find something.  While she is finding nothing and sucking her sweet, her sister mercy comes in furtively, still frowning and vindictive.]

Mercy.  What!  Haven’t you found it, Tibby?  Get along with ’ee, then!

[She accelerates the stolid Tissy’s departure with a smack, searches under the seat, finds and picks up the deserted sixpence.  Then very quickly she goes to the door:  But it is opened before she reaches it, and, finding herself caught, she slips behind the chintz window-curtain.  A woman has entered, who is clearly the original of the large photograph.  She is not strictly pretty, but there is charm in her pale, resolute face, with its mocking lips, flexible brows, and greenish eyes, whose lids, square above them, have short, dark lashes.  She is dressed in blue, and her fair hair is coiled up under a cap and motor-veil.  She comes in swiftly, and closes the door behind her; becomes irresolute; then, suddenly deciding, moves towards the door into the house.  Mercy slips from behind her curtain to make off, but at that moment the door into the house is opened, and she has at once to slip back again into covert.  It is Ivy who has appeared.]

Ivy. [Amazed] Oh!  Mrs. Strangway!

     [Evidently disconcerted by this appearance, Beatrice Strangway
     pulls herself together and confronts the child with a smile.]

Beatrice.  Well, Ivy—­you’ve grown!  You didn’t expect me, did you?

Ivy.  No, Mrs. Strangway; but I hoped yu’d be comin’ soon.

Beatrice.  Ah!  Yes.  Is Mr. Strangway in?

Ivy. [Hypnotized by those faintly smiling lips] Yes—­oh, yes!  He’s writin’ his sermon in the little room.  He will be glad!

Beatrice. [Going a little closer, and never taking her eyes off the child] Yes.  Now, Ivy; will you do something for me?