moment a certain preoccupation caused by the arrival of the tea-tray,
and by a rapid resignation to the thickness of the bread and butter and
the distressing absence of such hot things as would have been in
readiness if Mrs. Venables had been expected for a single moment. It
showed the youth of Morna Woodgate that she should harbor a wish to
compete with the wealthiest woman in the neighborhood, even in the
matter of afternoon tea, and her breeding that no such thought was
legible in her clear-cut open-air face.

"I have heard nothing about it," said the vicar, in a tone indicative of
much honest doubt in the matter.

"Nor is it the case, to my knowledge," rejoined Mrs. Venables; "but from
all we hear it may become the case any moment. They were married in
Italy last autumn--so he says--and are on their way home at this
minute."

"If he says so," observed the vicar, with mild humor, "it is probably
true. He ought to know."

"And who was she?" his young wife asked with immense interest, the cups
having gone round, and the bread and butter been accepted in spite of
its proportions.

"My dear Mrs. Woodgate," said Mrs. Venables, cordially, "you may well
ask! Who was she, indeed! It was the first question I asked my own
informant, who, by the way, was your friend, Mr. Langholm; but he knew
no more than the man in the moon."

"And who told Mr. Langholm, of all people?" pursued Morna Woodgate. "It