'Aunty!' cried Mab, as Miss Whichello, like a little white ghost, moved into the room. 'I thought your head was so bad.'
'It is better now, my dear,' replied the old lady, who really looked very ill. 'How do you do, Captain Pendle?'
'Hadn't you better call me George, Miss Whichello?'
'No, I hadn't, my dear man; at least, not until your engagement with Mab is an accomplished fact.'
'But it is an accomplished fact now, aunty,' said Mab, showing the ring. 'Here is the visible sign of our engagement.'
'A strange ring, but very charming,' pronounced Miss Whichello, examining the jewel. 'But does the bishop know?'
'I intend to tell him when I come back next week' said George, promptly. 'At present he is too upset with this murder to pay much attention to my love affairs.'
'Upset with this murder!' cried the little lady, dropping into a chair. 'I don't wonder at it. I am quite ill with the news.'
'I'm sure I don't see why, aunty. This Jentham tramp wasn't a relative, you know.'
Miss Whichello shuddered, and, if possible, turned paler. 'He was a human being, Mab,' she said, in a low voice, 'and it is terrible to think that the poor wretch, however evil he may have been, should have come to so miserable an end. Is it known who shot him, Captain Pendle?'