game can be done by a scavenger any day. You can save your money. I'll take Gertrude away. I don't suppose she'll ever get better but she shall end her days in peace.

With a gesture of contempt Miss Hollins turned round and went upstairs to her demented sister.

Thomas Ewins sat back in his chair silent. Was he upbraiding himself? Had he been too keen on gathering gold?

"Women," he muttered, "they don't understand . . and mechanically he reached for his guide to investments.

Miss Hollins took her sister into the country for a little time and tried to restore the shattered mind. But Mrs. Ewins, save for a few instinctive things, was helpless, and only in respect of what concerned David was she other than vacant.

She had been in the country three weeks when she said to her sister one day:

"I must go to town."

Miss Hollins looked surprised. This was something out of the common. This desire to do something might be the indication of returning interest and intelligence.

Mrs. Ewins, too, spoke quite sanely and naturally. In answer to her sister's question, she nodded.

"Yes, Gertrude. . . Do you want to go anywhere particular?”

Mrs. Ewins looked secretive. She shook her head. "It's all right—I'll go with you," said her sister. Mrs. Ewins nodded: she trusted her sister. She whispered:

"I used to send David .

It was for him.

I used to give it him . . . I used to give it him . . ." Her face fell to its look of unutterable sadness. shook her head.

She

"We'll go to town if you like, Gertrude," said Miss Hollins.

Mrs. Ewins nodded.

"The post office," she said. "Five pounds a month. I thought I'd get five pounds. It was for David. . . . He used to go for it, but he didn't know who sent it. . And it's no good now, it's no good

Miss Hollins wondered and listened. But Mrs. Ewins merely muttered. . . . "It's no good now." "Perhaps it is," said Miss Hollins, hoping to lead her sister in some avenue where something familiar might strike the mind that seemingly wandered so incoherently.

"It was for David, and he won't want it any more. He won't want it It's no good any more.

And the mask of vacancy resumed possession. Mrs. Ewins never referred to the matter again.

Miss Hollins did not understand but she related the incident afterwards to Thomas Ewins and when he had been told the story two or three times he grasped its significance: he had been blackmailed by his wife! He was alarmed at first but found relief in his sister-inlaw's expression.

"H'm," he said. "These mad folk are allus fancyin' summat.'

He comforted himself with the reflection that nobody could take the mutterings of a mad woman seriously. That at least was something! But his wife as blackmailer. blackmailed by his wife

Well, well! . It must have been she who had looked through Ralph Higgins's door that night. And that explained why only five pounds a month had been asked for. She wanted money for David-thought that would do . . . and he got drunk with it and was drowned . .

Thomas Ewins was at supper. His wife's chair, his daughter's, his son's, were all vacant. The cloth was laid over half the table and on the other half were papers, leathers, trimmings, and oddments, giving it a most untidy appearance.

Some touch of sentiment came to him and he felt lonely. He wanted affection but he had always spurned it, never given it and could not command it.

The quietness seemed to oppress him and he felt sad. He almost pitied himself: his was not the happiest of lots. . . . He was not quite sixty and hoped to live a long time yet. And he was alone. . . . He wanted people to look after his comforts and think well of him... He knew he had got on: people ought

to respect him. Well, perhaps Dolly would come home some day with some little grandchildren.

them

Aye

some little 'uns. . . And then he could tell his grandchildren

money their grandfather had made.

As he ate he read the evening paper.

how much

When he had finished his supper he rang for his housekeeper to clear away the things. He pointed to a bit of milk pudding in a dish.

"Dunna waste that," he said, shaking his head. "No, sir."

"Can't afford to waste anything 'ere. An' get off

early to bed so as you dunna run me up big gas bills. I want no waste."

"All right, sir. I like going to bed early."

"That's right. . . . You can get up as early as you like."

He was alone.

He leaned back in his easy chair, took up the paper, fixed his glasses and looked carefully at the prices of the stocks which he hoped would rise.

MR. and Mrs. Jupp and Lina Whitelaw had been

invited to supper at the Harveys' and Lina had taken very great pains over her hair, her dress-her appearance generally. She seemed very anxious over the way she had to do her hair, trying it this way and that "No this . . . no . . " and then wondering if some other way wouldn't be better after all.

She had made up her mind what blouse and what skirt she was going to wear but even when she had them on she had to observe a very great number of reflections of herself in the mirror to see that the things were really on properly. And after all that labour and care it seemed every now and then as if she forgot her own appearance altogether, as if she were thinking of something else. . . somebody else.

Her bosom rose and fell with an excitement she had apparently no desire to repress. She liked nice clothes and she liked to appear at her best, but it was not the fact that she looked attractive or that her clothes pleased her that stirred her emotions to this pitch.

And she was merely going to supper at the Harveys', who kept a little shop for the sale of papers, stationery, books, etc. That was nothing to be extravagantly proud of.

We are a nation of snobs-so are most civilised na