ters. Ewins, with his back to the door and the table, did not see Tugwell.

Tugwell read the letter lying on the table, as he was accustomed to read all business letters, hesitated -and then went out as quietly as he had come in. Some minutes later he returned to the office noisily. Ewins was just coming to the door.

"'Ello."

Ewins said: "Barrow wants to know summat about that order for Young & Co. 'E says 'e's getten calf an' they should be Russia. What the devil's 'e

doin'?"

"Calf" . . . said Tugwell. "I'll go and see."

When Tugwell went to the foreman Ewins wondered if he had been to the Office while he, Ewins, was at the tube Very suspicious was Thomas

Ewins.

That was another disturbing thought.
But the five pounds.

CHAPTER XIX

QUITE ANOTHER SOCIETY

HIVALRY is not what it used to be. There are those who affirm it died years ago, but they are either cynical or too restrictive. Chivalry can still serve for an action generally undertaken with the prime object of doing good to someone else; and there was really chivalry in Lance's idea of marrying Dolly Ewins. Also-which is that much to his credit he did not regard his purpose in the light of chivalry at all, but tried to persuade himself how very attractive Dolly was and how desirable she would be for a wife. After all, there are few delusions so hollow as those of sex. "Concerning Man," by Woman: "Concerning Woman," by Man! It is distressing at times. It is much better in a general way but with individuals, one is frequently amazed. "Why did he marry her?" "Why did she marry him?" Everybody could say that of somebody within their circle of acquaintanceship. And yet "he" or "she" had a vision peculiar and satisfying, so what mattered other people's? Married couples are commoner than mates, or, it is easier to marry than to mate? And yet chivalry has no chance against instinct. Chivalry with Lance might have triumphed over obstacles: but when instinct came on the scene, Chivalry crept away-turning now and again to excite a tear or a sigh, but owning to defeat absolute and unquestionable.

Chivalry is an acquired thing: something of civilisation and manners. Love is eternal—it is fairly old, going back to at least the days when "male and female, created He them!" Love says, "There he is," or "There she is," and there is no disobedience. "Love conquers all things"-most true. In Lance's case it beat Chivalry at the first encounter: there was really very little of a struggle.

Think of Lance before: fairly serious, healthy in body and mind, loving his work, very busy sometimes, at other times slack; but never a loafer, not a drinker in public houses or clubs; a player at golf and tennis and a would-be writer; the world full of promise and joy and gladness and he delighted to be in it. It seemed almost as if he were enthusiastic with everything. And then the female, not coming as Love's messenger, but as Pity and Friendship's, pleading and imploring (mutely, of course) rather than compelling. And he responding because Chivalry egged him on and bluffed him now and again into thinking the whole affair was Love's. It seems as if it is easy to mistake other things for Love: but Love never allows itself to be mistaken for anything else.

Love's first call is physical-to the senses. It may be the sound of voice that arrests, a walk, a look in the eyes, as well as a pretty face or a beautiful form. The rest is a mere securing of the position. Spirits may meet and entwine: minds may lock with minds-then the fortress is impregnable.

Lina Whitelaw had made her impression on Lance. It was an impression indefinable and elusive, but there clearly enough. Her face when he got up in the morning her voice as he walked, a pair of brown eyes staring at him as he worked . . . and the whole

Lina now and again beside him. And he, still imagining himself in some way bound to Dolly! That was when he pulled his mind to think of the matter. Dolly to be rescued; Dolly to be made happy. Dolly as his wife.

But he really began to boggle at this last now. Dolly as his wife, with Lina Whitelaw looking at and talking to him. That kind of thing isn't proper.

Almost unconsciously the banner of Chivalry lost its last scroll: "Dolly as his wife." "Dolly to be rescued." "Dolly to be made happy" (some way)yes: but no more. He had not picked up Love's banner yet.

Two days after Mr. Ewins had called to find out what he could about the machine Mr. and Mrs. Harvey and Lance prepared to keep an engagement to go to supper at Mr. Jupp's.

For Mr. and Mrs. Harvey it was a pleasurable outing: they liked being with friends. For Lance it was Miss Whitelaw.

He felt it all day. All his arrangements were mixed up with Miss Whitelaw. As he sent up copy to the composing room, he was thinking he would shake hands with Miss Whitelaw to-night. As he wrote some of his notes for the week he thought Miss Whitelaw would read them, and so wrote with a polish and a style that nobody else in Ganton had ever inspired him to before. There ought always to be somebody to bring the best out of a man.

If you go out to supper-or tea ("high"), or tea and supper-you can't go in working clothes. That is not respectful. You don't "dress" in the sense of

wearing "evening clothes," but linen is quite clean, boots are clean, and clothes are neat and smart looking.

George Harvey donned a white waistcoat for the occasion. He felt "white-waistcoaty," too! His gaiety was even more abundant than usual. He was ready first and saw the shop was shut and all was properly ready for the family's exodus.

Then he hummed a tune and looked at his waistcoat and called out-in sheer exuberance-"Ready, Margaret?"

"In a minute, dear," shouted Mrs. Harvey from upstairs.

"Right! Right! Right! Don't hurry. Plenty of time. Tum. . . ti-tum-ti-tum

-tum-ti-tumty- Ready, Lance?” "In a minute, father."

tum-ti

"Right! Right! Right! Don't hurry, boy-plenty of time, plenty of time . . . Rum-titti-tum-diddi -rum-tum-tum .

Mrs. Harvey walked to the top of the stairs and called: "George."

"Yes, dear."

"Have you fastened the yard gate?"

"Yes."

"Bolted it?"

"Yes."

"And the back door?"

"No, but I will."

"And the windows?"

"Yes: seen to them. I think it's all right. Are you ready? I can smell the feast. I expect you're making yourself a queen."

"I shall be ready in a minute, dear.”