"Why—bless the lot of us!—it's never Miss Winfrey?"
"It is," said the governess, with a wan smile and a hand on her heart. "Will you let me sit down, and—not ask what brings me?"
Miss Crisp pushed her pale visitor into a chair.
"Perhaps I know," said she slyly. "That letterbox makes a noise!"
"Oh, to be so deceitful!" moaned Miss Winfrey, red with shame.
"Tut!" said her ready dupe; "I only call it venturesome. I know I shouldn't like to have all my letters seen when they make up the station mail-bag, though I don't know the thing that would bring me all this way on foot at this time of night. However, that's your business, my dear, and you shall have a cup of tea before I let you go again."
The two had often foregathered since the day of Miss Winfrey's arrival, and the fact made her feel meaner than ever now. Yet she could not bring herself to tell the post-mistress everything, and it was either that or the small deceit which she was practising. Consciously or unconsciously Miss Crisp must help her. They took the same strong view of the dreadful system of knocking down cheques; the governess proceeded to turn this to account. She referred to their first meeting, and as casually as possible to Cattle-station Bill, saying the poor man had been in for another cheque that afternoon.
"Indeed?" said Miss Crisp, seating herself till the kettle should boil. "He didn't get one, did he?"
"He did. That's just it. What makes you think he did not?"
"He never stopped on his way back."