“So you’ve been in this conspiracy for a fortnight,” said Zora severely, “and you never thought it your duty to stop him doing so foolish a thing?”

“As getting married, ma’am?”

“No.  Such a silly thing as running away.”

“Of course I did, ma’am,” said Wiggleswick, who went on mendaciously to explain that he had used every means in his power to prevail on his master to submit to the orthodox ceremony for the sake of the family.

“Then you might have given me a hint as to what was going on.”

Wiggleswick assumed a shocked expression.  “And disobey my master?  Orders is orders, ma’am.  I once wore the Queen’s uniform.”

Zora, sitting on the arm of a chair, half steadying herself with her umbrella, regarded the old man standing respectfully at attention before her with a smile whose quizzicality she could not restrain.  The old villain drew himself up in a dignified way.

“I don’t mean the government uniform, ma’am.  I’ve had my misfortunes like anyone else.  I was once in the army—­in the band.”

“Mr. Dix told me that you had been in the band,” said Zora with all her graciousness, so as to atone for the smile.  “You played that instrument in the corner.”

“I did, ma’am,” said Wiggleswick.

Zora looked down at the point of her umbrella on the floor.  Having no reason to disbelieve Wiggleswick’s circumstantial though entirely fictitious story, and having by the smile put herself at a disadvantage, she felt uncomfortably routed.

“Your master never told you where he was going or how long he was likely to be away?” she asked.

“My master, ma’am,” replied Wiggleswick, “never knows where he is going.  That’s why he wants a wife who can tell him.”

Zora rose and looked around her.  Then, with a sweep of her umbrella indicating the general dustiness and untidiness of the room: 

“The best thing you can do,” said she, “is to have the house thoroughly cleaned and put in order.  They may be back any day.  I’ll send in a charwoman to help you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Wiggleswick, somewhat glumly.  Although he had lied volubly to her for his own ends, he stood in awe of her commanding personality, and never dreamed of disregarding her high behests.  But he had a moral disapproval of work.  He could see no nobility in it, having done so much enforced labour in his time.

“Do you think we need begin now, ma’am?” he asked anxiously.

“At once,” said Zora.  “It will take you a month to clean the place.  And it will give you something to do.”

She went away femininely consoled by her exercise of authority—­a minor victory covering a retreat.  But she still felt very angry with Septimus.

When Clem Sypher came down to Penton Court for the week-end, he treated the matter lightly.

“He knew that he was acceptable to your mother and yourself, so he has done nothing dishonorable.  All he wanted was your sister and the absence of fuss.  I think it sporting of him.  I do, truly.”