Mystery at the Rectory (Musaicum Vintage Mysteries). Dorothy Fielding

      All of which, of course, compelled Miss Hill to follow apologetically for the truant's capture. This once entailed explaining things to Mrs. Green on one of these precipitate irruptions into a room where the artist stood palette in hand, talking to her literally "model" host, young Anthony Revell. An arrestingly handsome man, with dark well-cut features, brilliant eyes and a merry smile.

      Anthony gave the intruder a laughing welcome. But not so the annoyed artist, for Mrs. Green sharply shook her brushes at him. The dog's sensitive nose received some of the biting turpentine drops. Such an agonised howl followed that Olive's apologies were cut short by her cry of sympathy. While the victim's yelping dad' into the open, whence he streaked for home, was instantaneously followed by Anthony's rush after the dog in a vain impulse to apply some comforting first aid.

      As the two women were thus left momentarily alone, Mrs. Green said tartly: "Serve him right! That will teach him not to come barging in here again in a hurry!"

      "But the dog didn't harm anything!" Olive protested. "And he does so love coming here!" To which the answer was a sardonically significant:

      "He loves to come?" With an insolent stress on the pronoun that emphasised the personal implication.

      Mrs. Green looked about thirty-five years old. Dark, too, like Anthony, but with a vividly feminine face, capable of exerting profound attraction. Perfectly dressed, clever, amusing if not actually witty, Mrs. Green was considered to be a social acquisition to the neighbourhood.

      She had appeared in the district about four months ago, sending in her card to Lady Revell at The Flagstaff, and asking whether she might be allowed to copy the "Revell Morley." Lady Revell had given permission at once, had met her later at her work, and been struck by it and by her. A commission followed to paint a ceiling for the Chinese room, Lady Revell's pride. Mrs. Green's terms were ridiculously low, but she had explained, with seeming frankness, that she had been ordered by her doctor away from the North of Ireland where she lived, to the milder climate of England, and that the idea of idle hours filled her with horror. The two women had become very friendly. Lady Revell had insisted on her putting up at The Flagstaff, and there Mrs. Green had met Anthony on one of his infrequent calls on his mother. Anthony, twelve years older than Gilbert Revell who was his mother's idol, had been left a very large fortune when a boy of ten by his grandfather, between whom and himself there had been one of those warm affections that sometimes run between children and old people. Along with the fortune had gone The Causeway, a large house where Anthony had lived since coming down from Oxford. Mrs. Green, the well-read, the widely travelled, the splendid artist, had at once offered to paint some panels in his study for him. In other words, she had fallen head over heels in love with him, said local gossip, adding that she would not have been the first woman to find his very unusually good looks irresistible. Anthony flattered, and very much attracted, had at once closed with the offer. Mrs. Green had installed herself at The Causeway. Lady Revell had made no comment, though she had lent Mrs. Green her own maid to stay with her there. Anthony must marry some day, the wonder was that he had not done so before. Mrs. Green was a widow, evidently of independent means, and might carry it off, though Lady Revell thought her foolish to risk a slip, for she did not think Anthony was at all in love with the artist; but that, Lady Revell decided, was the woman's own look-out, and certainly Mrs. Green was both keen-eyed and clever, though a good deal older than Anthony.

      This was the woman then who now faced Olive with an appraising glance which was faintly ironic.

      Olive said nothing, only looked at the little picture nearest her. Even she recognised the quality of the work being done.

      "You're painting the steeple tile by tile," was her only comment. "It'll take a very long time at that rate, won't it," she added sweetly, "but I suppose you won't mind that."

      This was the third time that the two had met. The other times Mrs. Green had shown an apparent friendliness, which Olive felt was but skin deep—if that.

      Anthony came back now. He looked a mere lad, tall and rangy, though handsome as few lads are, as he jumped through the window on to the rug by Olive.

      "Mike refuses to hear my explanations," he said, "you've wounded his feelings deeply, Mrs. Green. Outraged all his notions of hospitality. His last word was that he wouldn't come here again! Ever!"

      "But that's the idea," Olive said brightly, "Mrs. Green doesn't like his coming. But, Mr. Revell, will you look out for me a good book on Euripides. You spoke of a Life of his—"

      "Oh, I hope not," came from Anthony in mock horror. He had taken a First in Classics. "When? Where?"

      Olive only laughed, and had him take her to the big library. There she started him on his favourite Greek authors, and from them to philosophies of life in general. She talked amazingly well, he thought, rather revolutionary ideas—unexpectedly so—but very charming, and how charming too she looked. How her large eyes shone...She was so keen on hearing what he had to say—what he thought—especially about modern problems—

      The time flew—as it had flown before when talking with her, Anthony recollected. He said as much when begging her to use the library. She had just explained that she could not go to the rector's fine collection of books, as he so often needed to consult them himself. It was in the middle of his ideas on how to help unemployment, ideas which were like and yet interestingly different to those held, or at least talked of, by her, that she said she must be back in the rectory. They walked home there together. Anthony struck anew by some of the things that she said; things, had he but known it, that Mr. Byrd proclaimed at his weekly talks to any who liked to drop in at his little cottage which he had named, with his characteristic bluntness—The Hut. It too was not far from The Causeway, but on the other side from The Flagstaff.

      CHAPTER TWO

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      THREE weeks passed, and still Doris was not able to leave her mother, but Olive managed her affairs quite nicely without her aid, so nicely that one afternoon Anthony hurried after her as she was leaving The Causeway. He had been out when she had arrived "to return a book."

      "I hope Mrs. Green didn't really annoy you," he said earnestly.

      Anthony had not heard what the trouble had really been, he had only come on Mrs. Green looking quite flushed, and on Olive facing her with a look as though she were a little girl being scolded by her governess.

      "She hates me," Olive now said. "She adores you," she added.

      "Not adores," he said uncomfortably. "She's a very warm-hearted woman, and, well—very great friends at first sight—almost—" He plodded on, but Olive was not listening—apparently. Her face upturned to the trees, she was content to be now in the sunshine, now in the shade—apparently.

      And then Anthony told her how he loved her, how he had fallen in love with her when he had seen her in Mrs. Richard Avery's sitting-room at the rectory only three weeks ago, and how he would never love any one else all his life.

      "I wish I could say that I never had loved any one before," Anthony went on, "though in a way I can. That's the worst of not falling in love—true love—early. Had I met you before—other things wouldn't have happened. Couldn't have happened. But I can swear that from now on you'll be the only woman in my life. Had I known what love is, I wouldn't have been deceived by its counterfeit. Not I. But now"—and Anthony's arms went round her—"I love you, and you only, and do you love me?"

      "Yes," she murmured, letting him kiss her. Suddenly she drew away. "There's some one over there. I saw a shadow slip behind those bushes. They must have been behind this tree and heard every word we've been saying!"

      "Who cares," he replied; and again forgot the world and other people.

      Quite half an hour later, Anthony overtook Mr. Avery as he was walking home.

      "I want you to be the first to know," Anthony began, and with that he went on to tell him of his engagement that afternoon to Olive. ".