y
when he was there, he was very rude indeed about him when he was gone,
and Jenny used to think how funny it was to wait for Mr. Timpany's
departure before he began to make a fuss.

Vaguely she felt her father was afraid to say much. She could understand
his fear, because Mr. Timpany was very large and strong, so large and
strong that even her mother spoke gently and always seemed anxious to
please him. And looking at the pair side by side, her father appeared
quite small--her father whom she had long regarded as largeness
personified.

One day Jenny came home late from school and found her parents in the
middle of a furious argument.

"I ar'n't going to have him here," Charlie was saying, "not no more, not
again, the dirty hound!"

"You dare say that, you vulgar beast."

"I shall say just whatever I please. You're struck on him, that's what
you are, you soft idiot."

"I'm no such thing," declared Mrs. Raeburn. "Nice thing that a friend of
father's can't come and have a cup of tea without your carrying on like
a mad thing."

"Not so much 'cup of tea,' Mrs. Raeburn. It's not the tea I minds. It's
while the kettle's boiling as I objects to."

"You're drunk," said the wife scornfully.

"And it's ---- lucky I am drunk. You're enough to make a fellow drunk
with your la-di-da behavior. Why, God help me, Florrie, you've been
powdering your face. Let me get hold of the----. I'll learn him to come
mucking round another man's wife."

On the very next day Mr. Timpany came to tea for the last time. Possibly
Mrs. Raeburn had told her husband it was to be the last time, for he did
not put in an appearance. Ruby had gone out by permission. May was
secured by a fortified nursing-chair. Alfie was away on some twilight
adventure of bells and string. Edie was immerged in a neighboring
basement with two friends, a plate of jam, and the cordial teasing of
the friends' brother, young Bert; and Jenny, urged on by a passionate
inquisitiveness, crept along the passage and listened to the following
conversation:

"You're wasted here, Flo, wasted--a fine woman like you is absolutely
wasted. Why won't you come away with me? Come away to-night, I'll always
be good to you."

"The children," said their mother.

"They'll get on all right by themselves. Bring the little one--what's
her name, with fair hair and dark eyes?"

"Jenny."

"Yes, Jenny. Bring her with you. I don't mind."

"It wouldn't be fair to her. She'd never have a