"
"I'm not staying there at all. I'm driving straight on to Ballymoy."
"If you're at all familiar with Ballymoy, I expect you've heard of me.
My name's Meldon, the Reverend J. J. Meldon, B.A. I was curate of
Ballymoy once, and everybody who was there in my time will be talking
about me still. I'm going back there now for a holiday."
"But I'm quite a stranger," said Miss King. "I've never been in
Ballymoy."
Meldon glanced at the bag which lay on the seat before her. There was
no label on it, but it bore the initials M. K. in gold letters on its
side.
"I suppose," he said, "that you're not by any chance a sister or a
niece of Major Kent's?"
"No. I'm not. I don't even know Major Kent. My name is King.
Millicent King."
A clergyman is, necessarily, more or less educated. Mr. Meldon had
proclaimed himself a bachelor of arts. It was natural to suppose that
he would have known the name, even the real name, of a famous living
novelist. Apparently he did not. Miss King felt a little disappointed.
"I daresay," said Meldon, without showing any signs of being impressed,
"that you're going to stop with the Resident Magistrate.
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