"Vera," said Eustace Daintree, coming leisurely up to her through the garden gate, "how on earth do you come to be talking to Sir John; has he been saying anything to you about the chancel?"
"Who was it? who did you say?" cried Vera, aghast.
"Why, Sir John Kynaston, to be sure. Did you not know it was he?"
She was thunderstruck. "Are you quite sure?" she faltered.
"Why, of course! I saw him only last night, you know. I wonder why he went off in such a hurry when he saw me?"
Vera was walking silently down the garden towards the house by his side. The thought in her mind was, "If that was Sir John Kynaston, who then is the photograph I found in the writing-table drawer?"
"What did he say to you, Vera? How came you to be talking to him?" pursued her brother-in-law.
"I only let him into the church. I did not know who he was. I told him the chancel ought to be restored—by himself."
Eustace Daintree looked dismayed.
"How very unfortunate. It will, perhaps, make him still more decided to do nothing."