Trev looked up, startled by the loud voice. Callie's fingers left his arm as if it burned her. A portly gentleman paused before them, the fan of his white beard rounding out his face, spreading like an old fashioned ruff over his clerical collar. He bowed toward Callie and nodded at Trev.

"Mr. Hartman," Callie said, sounding as if she could not catch her breath. "Mr. Hartman, oh yes." She became tangled in an introduction in which she could not seem to decide who to introduce to whom, or what anyone's name was. "That is—um, Monsieur—you'll remember our rector. Ah, of Monceaux. Monsieur… our parson!" She made a gesture of her hands as if she were shooing them toward one another.

"Of course." Mr. Hartman took off his hat with a practiced expression of concern. "I'm just on my way to pay a call at Dove House, monsieur le duc. I fear Madame is in a grave crisis?"

As he spoke, he assumed an odd affectation of an accent, so that Trev was moo-shur l'duck. The citizens of Shelford always took to French when they wished to put him in his place. Clearly Mr. Hartman did not approve of Callie's escort.

Her cheeks were the color of crushed strawberries. Trev was embarrassed too, caught enjoying himself while his mother was in a grave crisis. He was instantly annoyed with Hartman.

"She's a good deal better this morning, thank you," he said with easy English and a cool demeanor.

"Ah, she's improved." The news did not seem to please the parson. In fact his face drew downward into a more severe frown. "I felt deep apprehension from what I was told. I did not wish to leave her spiritually unattended at such a time."

"It's kind of you to come," Trev said dryly. As adher ents of the Roman Catholic rite, his family had seen very little of Mr. Hartman over their years in Shelford. "But I have some hope she'll survive for a few more hours."

"Well, certainly. I didn't mean, of course—" Mr. Hartman sputtered a little. "I should be glad to provide any comfort that I may in her extremity."

"Lady Callista has seen that my mother has every comfort," Trev said. "I suppose it's not too late to alter her popish tendencies, but I advise you to hasten."

"Really, sir!" Mr. Hartman gasped. "I had no intention, I assure you!"

"But pray don't let us detain you while she's in her extremity." Trev could see by the look Callie gave him that he was being outrageous. He took her arm again. "We're on our way to the Antlers for tea, leaving her to her fate. Good day!"

With a little application of force, he walked on, carrying Callie along with him. She threw a quick good morning over her shoulder and then allowed him to direct her forward. They walked at a brisk pace as far as the crossroad.