"Sit up and listen," said Mrs. Perage, getting to work at once. "I've seen our young friend, and I now know as much as you do."
Jim sat up cross-legged, resigned to the worst, and Mrs. Perage seated herself on the rustic bench under the tree with the air of a judge trying a particularly vicious criminal. "Need we discuss matters just now?" he asked in a bored tone. "I'm so comfortable. Peter is bringing me some tea, I have a book and a case of cigarettes, so on the whole----"
"Don't be an ass, Jim. You can be busy enough if you like."
"That's just it, Aunt Emma," remonstrated the barrister, clutching his ankles. "I don't like. There's nothing to be done at present. I'll see Owain this evening and hear how he settled with that old woman."
"He has settled nothing. But he managed to get her to leave him alone for seven days. In that time much can be done."
"Very probably. I'm sure I wish to do all I can. And Gwen?"
"She's crying in her bedroom. She will continue to cry until she is assured that Owain really loves her and not this other girl. You know what I mean?"
"Well, as you related what took place in the churchyard and as Gwen repeated the story to me, I must admit that I do know. I say, Aunt Emma, you don't think Miss Evans minds me calling her Gwen, as I----"
"Oh, don't talk rubbish," interrupted Mrs. Perage quickly. "We have more important things to speak about. This evening you must go to town by the seven train,"--she glanced at her watch. "That will give you time to have dinner comfortably, as you needn't dress."
"But, I say,"--Vane looked rather disgusted,--"I don't want to go to town."