"I do not know. Her grounds are large. Perhaps she gardens."
"You do not think there is any fear of ... of a scandal?" asked Lionel in a pained voice, anxious not to wound.
"I trust not ... I trust not. I have no reason to think.... Of course, things do look odd, and my wife says ... but, no! I am sure she must be wrong. I ... I hope so."
"Mrs. Peters has heard——?" hazarded Lionel. The clergyman shook his head with dignity.
"Nothing. Nothing. My wife called, but was refused admittance. Naturally she, as the vicar's wife, felt a little hurt...."
"Of course," agreed Lionel. "But no other friends come? Nobody in motors?"
"I believe not. I should have heard,—it would have drifted round to me in the course of time."
"Nobody stays here, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes—golfers. One is here now—an excellent man,—old and of foreign origin, I believe. He calls himself Beckett; but he has told me (in confidence) that he is here for rest, incognito. He may be somebody of importance—an excellent man, however. He gave me a guinea for our restoration fund the day I showed him the church."
"The ambassador!" was Lionel's swift conclusion; and then aloud, "Has he been here long?"