"Dear Lady Anderson," she gushed reproachfully, "you will have your little joke! You know how I hate gossip of all kinds."
"Yes," said the old lady dryly, "I know."
"But there is one thing about which I think everybody ought to be told. The Vicar and I have kept silence until now, because—er—because the time was not ripe."
Isobel leant forward with interest. At last the meaning of the parson's mysterious visit of the other day was to be cleared up.
"I refer," continued Mrs. Davies firmly, "to...."
Exactly as she had done on the previous occasion, the speaker stopped suddenly in the middle of her sentence as though an invisible hand had been clapped over her mouth.
They waited for a space in suspense.
"Well?" said Lady Anderson at last.
"I refer," began Mrs. Davies once more, uneasily, "to...."
Dead silence again. Lady Anderson showed signs of losing her temper, never her securest possession at the best of times. The prospect of incurring the great lady's wrath impelled Mrs. Davies to struggle with the mysterious ban that seemed to be laid upon her speech. Three more attempts to explain herself did she make; and when the last of these had failed a kind of hysteria seemed to seize Mrs. Davies. She mouthed impotently, gasping like a fish, but no sound came forth. Lady Anderson stared at her in malevolent amazement, while a monstrous suspicion grew in her mind.