"What does anyone know about a man?" she said, with slow deliberation.
The midday post at Maumsey brought letters just after luncheon. Delia turning hers over was astonished to see two or three with the local postmark.
"What can people from here be writing to me about?"
Gertrude absorbed in the new weekly number of the Tocsin took no notice, till she was touched on the shoulder by Delia.
"Yes?"
"Gertrude!—it's too amazing!" The girl's tone was full of a joyous wonder. "You know they told us at head-quarters that this was one of the deadest places in England—a nest of Antis—nothing doing here at all. Well, what do you think?—here are three letters by one post, from the village—all greeting us—all knowing perfectly who you are—that you have been in prison, etcetera—all readers of the Tocsin, and burning to be doing something—"
"Burning something?" interposed the other in her most ordinary voice.
Delia laughed, again with the note of constraint.
"Well, anyway, they want to come and see us."
"Who are they?"