She shook her head, smiling, and gathering up her gloves and
prayer-book, she followed Joan down the aisle and out into the
churchyard where people were standing about in little groups,
exchanging the time of day with that air of a renewal of interest in
worldly topics which synchronises with the end of Lent.

The Rector had not yet appeared, and as Joan was chatting with Mrs.
Mowbray, the local doctor's wife, Diana, who had an intense dislike for
Mrs. Mowbray and all her works--there were six of the latter, ranging
from a lanky girl of twelve to a fat baby still in the perambulator
stage--made her way out of the churchyard and stood waiting by the
beautiful old lichgate, which, equally with the thirteenth century
window, was a source of pride and satisfaction to the good folk of
Crailing.

A big limousine had pulled up beside the footpath, and an immaculate
footman was standing by its open door, rug in hand. Diana wondered
idly whose car it could be, and it occurred to her that very probably
it belonged to the strangers who had attended the service that morning.

A minute later her assumption was confirmed, as the middle-aged lady,
followed by the young, pretty one, came quickly through the lichgate
and entered the car. The footman hesitated, still holding the door
open, and the elder lady leaned forward to say:--

"It's all right, Baker. Mr. Errington is walking back."

Errington! So that was his name--that was what the E. on the
handkerchief stood for! Diana thought she could hazard a reasonable
guess as to why he had elected to walk home. He must have caught sight