But either Mrs. Parry was not clever enough or Mrs. Morley had no secret to reveal, for the scandalmonger learned nothing.
The only thing that Mrs. Morley said was that she missed her girls.
Whereupon Mrs. Parry told her that she ought to be ashamed of herself, seeing that the three were getting a good education.
However, this did not seem to console Mrs. Morley much, for she wept copiously in her usual fashion.
The good old lady returned to her cottage very much disgusted.
It was rather a dull time for her, as she had heard no news for a long time.
Everyone was so well-behaved that there was no scandal going, and Mrs. Parry began to think that she ought to pay a visit to town.
Her cousin, Mrs. McKail, had already gone back to New Zealand with a fearful opinion of English Society, for Mrs. Parry had blackened the country just as though she had been a pro-Boer.
Then one day her little maid, who was called Jane, and had the sharpest ears of any one in the village, brought in breakfast with the remark that Mr. Ware had returned.
Mrs. Parry sat up in bed, where she always partook of the first meal of the day, and looked excited.
"When did he arrive, Jane?
How does he look?
What does he say?"
Jane, being experienced, answered these questions categorically.
"He came last night, mum, with Trim, and looks a shadder of hisself, but said as he was glad to be home again, and what was the news."
"Ho!" said Mrs. Parry, rubbing her nose with a teaspoon, "wants to hear the news, does he?
I'll ask him to tea to-morrow—no, to-day.
You can take a note up to his place, Jane."
"Yes, mum," replied Jane, who was friendly with Giles' housekeeper.
"And don't let me hear that you've been gossiping with the servants, Jane," snapped Mrs. Parry, who was unusually cross in the morning, and looked an ogress without her wig. "I hate gossip.
You have two ears and one mouth, Jane; that means you should listen twice as much as you speak."
"Yes, mum," replied Jane, who had long since taken the measure of her mistress's foot.
Then she went to the door, and was recalled to be told that the cook was to make a cake.
She was going again, and had to return for instructions about some particular tea.
Then there was the silver to be especially polished, and various other matters to be gone into, until Jane's head was whirling and her feet ached.
She went down to the kitchen and told the cook that the old vinegar bottle was more fractious than usual.
If only Mrs. Parry had heard her!
But she thought Jane was afraid of her, whereas Jane was meek to her face and saucy behind her back.
The old lady heard all the gossip in the neighborhood, but she never knew the remarks that were made in her own kitchen.
However, it thus came about that Giles received a civil note from Mrs. Parry, asking him to come to afternoon tea.
His first thought was to refuse, but he then reflected that if he wanted to learn all that had taken place during his absence, Mrs. Parry was the very person who could tell him.
He knew she was an old cat, and had a dangerous tongue.
Still, she was much better than a newspaper, being, as her enemies said, more spicy.
He therefore accepted the invitation, and appeared in the little parlor about five.
He had been for a ride, and having put his horse up at the inn, asked the old lady to excuse his dress.
Mrs. Parry did so with pleasure.
Giles was a splendid figure of a man, and looked a picture in his trim riding-dress.
The old dame had an eye for a fine man, and cast an approving glance at his shapely legs and slim figure. But she frowned when her eyes rose to his face.
It was thinner than she liked to see; there was not the old brave light in his eyes, and his fair moustache had lost the jaunty curl, which, to her romantic mind, had made him such a gallant lover.
Giles was one of the few persons Mrs. Parry did not abuse, for his good looks and many courtesies had long since won her foolish old heart, although she would never confess to it.
But then, Mrs. Parry was softer than she looked.
"Who had been taking the heart out of you, Ware?" she asked in her gentlemanly way, which Giles knew and had often laughed at.
"No one," he answered gloomily, "unless you call Fate some one."
"I call Anne Denham some one," she replied coolly, "so you haven't found her yet, poor soul!"
"No; I have looked everywhere. She has vanished like a bubble."
"It is just as well.
You couldn't possibly marry her and bring her back to Rickwell as your wife."
"Why not?
She is innocent.
You said yourself that she was."