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remarking on the beauty of the weather when Patricia spoke.

“Mrs. Langham?”

The lady turned, raising her eyebrows and smiling obligingly.

“Yes?”

“Would you care to explain, Mrs. Langham?” asked Patricia quietly.

“Explain what?”

“The ‘Ssh!’”

Mrs. Langham’s smile faded. She became stern.

“Are you in the habit of eavesdropping, Miss Weybourn?” she asked severely.

“Yes, when you and your kind are whispering,” was the uncompromising answer.

“Then you will have heard and understood, Miss Weybourn,” said Mrs. Langham, with a curl of her lip.

Patricia’s right hand came into contact with Mrs. Langham’s cheek so sharply that it raised a tiny cloud of pink dust and revealed a network of tiny wrinkles.

The sound of the blow echoed in the long room, and the old friends gasped in horror as they backed away. To his everlasting shame Mr. Langham thrust his hands into his pockets, strolled to the window and examined the sky while he strove to whistle a half-forgotten tune.

After the first shock of surprise, Mrs. Langham looked around for her natural protector. The sight of his back and the sound of his whistle roused her to fury.

“You—you hussy!” she barked. “How dare you! How dare you!”

“I’ll dare anything where you are concerned, Mrs. Langham,” replied Patricia evenly, advancing her open hand again. “Will you explain the ‘Ssh!’ or must I strike you again?”