"
"I don't expect he had," said Mrs. Stobell, screwing up her small
features.
Mrs. Chalk drew herself up in her chair. "What do you mean by that?"
she demanded.
"I meant what he meant," replied Mrs. Stobell, with a little air of
surprise.
Mrs. Chalk bit her lip, and her friend, turning her head, gazed long and
mournfully at a large photograph of Mr. Stobell painted in oils, which
stared stiffly down on them from the wall.
"He never caused me a moment's uneasiness," she said, tenderly. "I could
trust him anywhere."
[Illustration: "Her friend gazed long and mournfully at a large
photograph of Mr. Stobell."]
Mrs. Chalk gazed thoughtfully at the portrait. It was not a good
likeness, but it was more like Mr. Stobell than anybody else in
Binchester, a fact which had been of some use in allaying certain
unworthy suspicions of Mr. Stobell the first time he saw it.
"Yes," said Mrs. Chalk, significantly, "I should think you could."
Mrs. Stobell, about to reply, caught the staring eye of the photograph,
and, shaking her head sorrowfully, took out her handkerchief and wiped
her eyes. Mrs. Chalk softened.
"They both had their faults," she said, gently, "but they were great
friends.
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