‘That’s sheer libel, Mrs Blott,’ he told her, counting out the money for his tobacco. ‘Even if you mean racketing – and a woman of your education should know the difference! – it still isn’t true. Those embryo schoolmarms are painfully, morbidly earnest. A good many of them have given up other and lesser jobs in pursuit of what they consider to be an ideal, and their zeal is positively nunlike – until, of course, they discover what the job really entails!’

‘Not much ideal in learning how to learn young Bob Wootton and Tommy Mayhew,’ retorted Mrs Blott with a sniff. As there was no possible answer to this except a direct contradiction which would have amounted to an equally direct lie, Jonathan pocketed his tobacco and his change, laughed, and wished her good-bye.

On the afternoon of Sidney’s arrival in the snow, therefore, Jonathan and Deborah, having accepted their unwished-for titles without further question, went into the morning-room to examine the post.

‘Oh, Lord!’ said Jonathan. ‘I do hope this isn’t going to begin. Have you got one?’

‘One what?’ asked Deborah, opening some retarded Christmas cards.

‘An anonymous contribution to your knowledge of my morals and conceits. I’ve got a beauty about you!’

‘Show me.’ She took the letter from her husband, and, to his dismay, flushed scarlet. ‘Oh, dear!’ she cried. ‘Now who on earth could have known that!’

‘Known what?’ said Jonathan. ‘Good Lord, it isn’t true?’

‘No, of course not. But I did have a bit of bother with him. It was very soon after we came. It’s all right now.’

‘But why the devil didn’t you tell me? I’d have broken his neck!’

‘Yes, I know, you idiot! That’s precisely why I didn’t tell you. But he got no change out of it, one way and another. But I wonder – what’s the postmark on the envelope?’

‘What you’d expect – Cheltenham. Anybody in the village has only to get on a bus.’ He got up. ‘I’m going into Cheltenham and I’m – dash! I suppose whoever it was just bunged it in the nearest pillar-box. Probably didn’t even need to go into a post-office for a stamp. I know what I will do, though. I’ll find out who in the village went to Cheltenham on the day before Christmas Eve and on what errand. That might give us a clue.’

‘Oh, darling, I wouldn’t bother. Some nasty person thinks she’s got hold of a bit of scandal and wants to make mischief. That’s all there’s to it. Far better take no notice.’