"Have you heard the news, my dear, from the Small House?" said Mrs. Boyce to her husband, some two or three days after Mrs. Dale's visit to the squire. It was one o'clock, and the parish pastor had come in from his ministrations to dine with his wife and children.
"What news?" said Mr. Boyce, for he had heard none.
"Mrs. Dale and the girls are going to leave the Small House; they're going into Guestwick to live."
"Mrs. Dale going away; nonsense!" said the vicar. "What on earth should take her into Guestwick? She doesn't pay a shilling of rent where she is."
"I can assure you it's true, my dear. I was with Mrs. Hearn just now, and she had it direct from Mrs. Dale's own lips. Mrs. Hearn said she'd never been taken so much aback in her whole life. There's been some quarrel, you may be sure of that."
Mr. Boyce sat silent, pulling off his dirty shoes preparatory to his dinner. Tidings so important, as touching the social life of his parish, had not come to him for many a day, and he could hardly bring himself to credit them at so short a notice.
"Mrs. Hearn says that Mrs. Dale spoke ever so firmly about it, as though determined that nothing should change her."
"And did she say why?"
"Well, not exactly. But Mrs. Hearn said she could understand there had been words between her and the squire. It couldn't be anything else, you know. Probably it had something to do with that man Crosbie."
"They'll be very pushed about money," said Mr. Boyce, thrusting his feet into his slippers.
"That's just what I said to Mrs. Hearn. And those girls have never been used to anything like real economy. What's to become
