ts what to put into their next books and
jurists how to decide cases. Full of modern and liberal ideas--believes
in free love and all that sort of thing, and gives Jerry the dickens for
practising it."

"Oh!" exclaimed Honora.

Mr. Cuthbert, however, did not appear to realize that he had shocked
her.

"By the way," he asked, "have you seen Cecil Grainger since the
Quicksands game?"

"No," she replied. "Has Mr. Grainger been at Quicksands since?"

"Nobody knows where he's been," answered Mr. Cuthbert. "It's a mystery.
He hasn't been home--at Newport, I mean-for a fortnight. He's never
stayed away so long without letting any one know where he is. Naturally
they thought he was at Mrs. Kame's in Banbury, but she hasn't laid eyes
on him. It's a mystery. My own theory is that he went to sleep in a
parlour car and was sent to the yards, and hasn't waked up."

"And isn't Mrs. Grainger worried?" asked Honora.

"Oh, you never can tell anything about her," he said. "Do you know her?
She's a sphinx. All the Pendletons are Stoics. And besides, she's been
so busy with this Charities Conference that she hasn't had time to think
of Cecil. Who's that?"

"That" was a lady from Rivington, one of Honora's former neighbours, to
whom she had bowed. Life, indeed, is full of contrasts. Mr. Cuthbert,
too, was continually bowing and waving to acquaintances on the Avenue.

Thus pleasantly conversing, they arrived at the first house on the list,
and afterwards went through a succession of them. Once inside, Honora
would look helplessly about her in the darkness while her escort would
raise the shades, admitting a gloomy light on bare interiors or shrouded
furniture.

And the rents: Four, five, six, and seven and eight thousand dollars
a year. Pride prevented her from discussing these prices with Mr.
Cuthbert; and in truth, when lunch time came, she had seen nothing which
realized her somewhat vague but persistent ideals.

"I'm so much obliged to you," she said, "and I hope you'll forgive me
for wasting your time."

Mr. Cuthbert smiled broadly, and Honora smiled too.

Indeed, there was something ludicrous in the remark. He assumed an
attitude of reflection.

"I imagine you wouldn't care to go over beyond Lexington Avenue, would
you? I didn't think to ask you."

"No," she replied, blushing a little, "I shouldn't care to go over as
far as that."

He pondered a while longer, when suddenly his face lighted up.

"I've got it!" he