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Your affectionate friend,

Virgil Pardoner.

“Now address it,” said Sarah, “and send for a stamp.”

Pardoner hesitated.

“I’ld, er, I’ld like to sleep on it,” he said. “I mean, it’s—it’s a ticklish business.”

Miss Vulliamy indicated an envelope with a firm pointed finger.

“Pretty hands you’ve got,” said Virgil musingly. “Pretty nails, too.”

“What are June’s like?”

“Oh, very good,” said Virgil. “Full of character, you know. But yours are bewitching. That left one——”

“Apostate,” said Sarah. “And now address this envelope.”

Virgil did so laboriously.

Miss June Townshend,

The Rectory,

Roughbridge,

Lincolnshire.

They posted the letter together, before they parted.

It was two days later that Mrs. Purdoe Blewitt was seriously annoyed.

“Such impudence,” she said, bristling. “As if she were the daughter of the house....”

The Reverend Purdoe Blewitt, Rector of Loughbridge, laid down his pen.

“What is the matter, my dear?”

His wife stabbed at the bell and flounced into a chair before replying.

“Jane, of course,” she snorted. “Fortunately, I met the postman, or I should never have known.” She tapped a letter with meaning. “She’s still doing it.”