’Yes.  My uncle Sheepshanks came upon them in the Park Avenue,—­he startled ’em a good deal, he said; and when he taxed Mr. Preston with being with his sweetheart, he didn’t deny it.’

’Well!  Now so much has come out, I’ll tell you what I know.  Only, ladies, I wouldn’t wish to do the girl an unkind turn,—­so you must keep what I’ve got to tell you a secret.’  Of course they promised; that was easy.

’My Hannah, as married Tom Oakes, and lives in Pearson’s Lane, was a-gathering of damsons only about a week ago, and Molly Gibson was a-walking fast down the lane,—­quite in a hurry like to meet some one,—­ and Hannah’s little Anna-Maria fell down, and Molly (who’s a kind-hearted lass enough) picked her up; so if Hannah had had her doubts before, she had none then.’

‘But there was no one with her, was there?’ asked one of the ladies anxiously, as Mrs. Goodenough stopped to finish her piece of cake, just at this crisis.

’No.  I said she looked as if she was going to meet some one,—­and by-and-by comes Mr. Preston running out of the wood just beyond Hannah’s, and says he, “A cup of water, please, good woman, for a lady has fainted, or is ’sterical or something.”  Now though he didn’t know Hannah, Hannah knew him.  “More folks know Tom Fool, than Tom Fool knows,” asking Mr. Preston’s pardon; for he’s no fool whatever he be.  And I could tell you more,—­and what I’ve seed with my own eyes.  I seed her give him a letter in Grinstead’s shop, only yesterday, and he looked as black as thunder at her, for he seed me if she didn’t.’

‘It’s a very suitable kind of thing,’ said Miss Airy; ’why do they make such a mystery of it?’

‘Some folks like it,’ said Mrs. Dawes; ’it adds zest to it all, to do their courting underhand.’

‘Ay, it’s like salt to their victual,’ put in Mrs. Goodenough.  But I didn’t think Molly Gibson was one of that sort, I didn’t.’

‘The Gibsons hold themselves very high?’ cried Mrs. Dawes, more as an inquiry than an assertion.  ‘Mrs. Gibson has called upon me.’

‘Ay, you’re like to be a patient of the doctor’s,’ put in Mrs Goodenough.

’She seemed to me very affable, though she is so intimate with the Countess and the family at the Towers; and is quite the lady herself; dines late, I’ve heard, and everything in style.’

’Style!  Very different style to what Bob Gibson, her husband, was used to when first he came here,—­glad of a mutton-chop in his surgery, for I doubt if he’d a fire anywhere else; we called him Bob Gibson then, but none on us dare Bob him now; I’d as soon think o’ calling him sweep!’

‘I think it looks very bad for Miss Gibson!’ said one lady, rather anxious to bring back the conversation to the more interesting present time.  But as soon as Mrs. Goodenough heard this natural comment on the disclosures she had made, she fired round on the speaker.