“Oh, my dear Longford!-pray do not speak of these things!”—­ interrupted Roxmouth, with an air of gentlemanly humility.  “Merit always commands my interest and attention—­and Mr. Adderley’s talent as a poet—­naturally—!” Here he waved his hand and allowed the sentence to finish itself.

Julian looked at him thoughtfully.

“Thanks!  I think I see what you mean!”—­he said slowly—­“But I’m afraid I am not a useful person.  I never have been useful in my life—­neither to myself, nor to anybody else.  To be useful would be new—­and in some cases, fresh,”—­here he smiled dubiously—­“Yes—­ very fresh!—­and delightful!  But I fear—­I very much fear that I shall always ‘lack advancement’ as Hamlet says—­I can never accommodate myself to other people’s plans.  You will excuse my inabilities?”

Roxmouth flushed angrily.  He understood.  So did Marius Longford—­ resolving in his own mind that whenever, if ever, a book of poems appeared by Julian Adderley, he would so maul and pounce upon it in the critical reviews, that there should not be a line of it left unmangled or alive.  They parted with him, however, on apparently excellent terms.

Returning to Badsworth Hall they found no further news awaiting them than they had themselves been able to obtain.  Sir Morton’s fussy enquiries had brought no result—­Miss Tabitha had scoured the neighbourhood in her high dogcart, calling on the Ittlethwaites and Mandeville Porehams, all in vain.  Nobody knew anything.  Nobody had heard anything.  The sudden exit of Maryllia from the scene took everyone by surprise.  And when Miss Pippitt began to hiss a scandalous whisper concerning John Walden, and a possible intrigue between him and the Lady of the Manor, the ‘county’ sat up amazed.  Here indeed was food for gossip!  Here was material for ‘local’ excitement!

“Old Tabitha’s jealous!—­that’s what it is!” said Bruce Ittlethwaite of Ittlethwaite Park, to his maiden sisters,—­“Ha-ha-ha!  Old green-and-yellow Tabitha is afraid she’ll lose her pet parson!  Dammit!  A pretty woman always starts this kind of nonsense.  If it wasn’t the clergyman, it would be somebody else—­perhaps Sir Morton himself—­or perhaps me!  Ha-ha-ha!  Dammit!”

“I don’t believe a word of it!” declared the eldest Miss Ittlethwaite,—­“I do not attend Mr. Walden’s services myself, but I am quite sure he is an excellent man—­and a perfect gentleman.  Nothing that Tabitha Pippitt can ever say, will move me on that point!”

“I always had my suspicions!”—­said Mrs. Mandeville Poreham, severely, when she in her turn heard the news—­“I heard that Miss Vancourt had insisted—­positively insisted on Mr. Walden’s visiting her nearly every day, and I trembled for him!  My girls have gone quite crazy about Miss Vancourt ever since they met her at Sir Morton Pippitt’s garden-party, but I have never changed my opinion.  My poor mother always taught me to be firm in my convictions.  And Miss Vancourt is a designing person.  There’s no doubt of it.  She affects the innocence of a child—­but I doubt whether I have ever met anyone quite so worldly and artful!”