herself. She was conscious that she made the remark
with an entire lack of conviction.

Vasco shook his head.

"But you should have," said Lulu angrily; "if, as you say, they are
highly compromising--"

"Oh, they are, I assure you of that," interposed the young man.

"Then you should put them out of harm's way at once. Supposing anything
should leak out, think of all these poor, unfortunate people who would be
involved in the disclosures," and Lulu tapped the list with an agitated
gesture.

"Unfortunate, perhaps, but not poor," corrected Vasco; "if you read the
list carefully you'll notice that I haven't troubled to include anyone
whose financial standing isn't above question."

Lulu glared at her nephew for some moments in silence. Then she asked
hoarsely: "What are you going to do?"

"Nothing--for the remainder of my life," he answered meaningly. "A
little hunting, perhaps," he continued, "and I shall have a villa at
Florence. The Villa Sub-Rosa would sound rather quaint and picturesque,
don't you think, and quite a lot of people would be able to attach a
meaning to the name. And I suppose I must have a hobby; I shall probably
collect Raeburns."

Lulu's relative, who lived at the Court of Monaco, got quite a snappish
answer when she wrote recommending some further invention in the realm of
marine research.

THE COBWEB

The farmhouse kitchen probably stood where it did as a matter of accident
or haphazard choice; yet its situation might have been planned by a
master-strategist in farmhouse architecture. Dairy and poultry-yard, and
herb garden, and all the busy places of the farm seemed to lead by easy
access into its wide flagged haven, where there was room for everything
and where muddy boots left traces that were easily swept away. And yet,
for all that it stood so well in the centre of human bustle, its long,
latticed window, with the wide window-seat, built into an embrasure
beyond the huge fireplace, looked out on a wild spreading view of hill
and heather and wooded combe. The window nook made almost a little room
in itself, quite the pleasantest room in the farm as far as situation and
capabilities went. Young Mrs. Ladbruk, whose husband had just come into
the farm by way of inheritance, cast covetous eyes on this snug corner,
and her fingers itched to make it bright and cosy with chintz curtains
and bowls of flowers, and a shelf or two of old china. The musty farm
parlour, lookin