and his hostess's senior. Her tones were tart, and when she said that she was pleased to meet him, he permitted himself no illusion that she spoke the truth.

Miss Wix, as a matter of fact, was not particularly pleased to meet anybody. She lived with the Walfords because she had no means of her own and it was essential for her to live somewhere; but she accepted her dependence with mental indignation, and fate had soured her. Under a chilly demeanour she often burned secretly with the consciousness that she was not wanted, and the knowledge found expression at long intervals in an emotional outbreak, in which she quarrelled with Louisa violently, and proclaimed an immediate intention of "taking a situation." What kind of situation she thought she was competent to fill nobody inquired; neither did the "threat" ever impose on anyone, nor did she take more than a preliminary step towards fulfilling it. She nursed the "Wanted" columns of the Telegraph ostentatiously for a day or two, and waited for the olive-branch. The household were aware that she must be persuaded to forgive them, and she was duly persuaded—relapsing into the acidulated person, in whom hysteria looked impossible. A year or so later the outbreak would be repeated, and she would then threaten to "take a situation" quite as vehemently as before.

"Tea, Aunt Emily?"

"Yes, please, if it hasn't got cold."

Humphrey took it to her. She stirred the cup briskly, and eyed him with critical disfavour.

"I've read your book, Mr. Kent."

"Oh," he responded, as she did not say any more. "Have you, Miss Wix?"