of family. It's by the Bishop of
Westmoreland. He censures such practices: I agree with him."

Mrs Devitt spoke from her heart. The daughter of a commercial house,
which owed its prosperity to an abundant supply of cheap labour, she
realised (although she never acknowledged it to herself) that the
practices the worthy bishop condemned, if widely exercised, must, in
course of time, reduce the number of hands eager to work for a
pittance, and, therefore, the fat profits of their employers.

"So do I," declared Miss Spraggs, who only wished she had the ghost of
a chance of contributing (legitimately) to the sum of the population.

"There's an admirable article about Carlyle in the same number of the
National Review," said Miss Spraggs presently.

"I never read anything about Carlyle," declared Mrs Devitt.

Miss Spraggs raised her straight eyebrows.

"He didn't get on with his wife," said Mrs Devitt, in a manner
suggesting that this fact effectually disposed in advance of any
arguments Miss Spraggs might offer.

Soon after, Montague Devitt came into the room, to be received with
inquiring glances by the two women. He walked to the fireplace, where
he stood in moody silence.

"Well?" said his wife presently.

"Well!" replied Devitt.

"What has Lowther confessed?"

"The usual."

"Money?"

"And other things."

"Ah! What were the other things?"

"We'll talk it over presently," replied Montague, as he glanced at Miss
Spraggs.

"Am I so very young and innocent that I shouldn't learn what has
happened?" asked Miss Spraggs, who, in her heart of hearts, enjoyed
revelations of masculine profligacy.

"I'd rather speak later," urged Montague gloomily, to add, "It never
rains but it pours."

"Why do you say that?" asked his wife quickly.

"I'd a letter from Charlie Perigal this mornin'."

"Where from?"

"The same Earl's Court private hotel. He wants somethin' to do."

"Something to do!" cried the two sisters together.

"His father hasn't done for him what he led me to believe he would,"
explained Devitt gloomily.

"You can find him something?" suggested Miss Spraggs.

"And, till you do, I'd better ask them to stay down here," said his
wife.

"That part of it's all right," remarked Devitt. "But somehow I don't
think Charlie---"

"What?" interrupted Mrs Devitt.

"Is much of a hand at work," replied her husband.

No one said anything for a few minutes.

Mrs Devitt spoke next.

"I'm scarcely surpr