le mad?"

He was carrying his hat in his hand, and his fine grizzled hair, rumpled
in the excitement of the meeting, had not yet subsided on his head.

"Yes, Mr. Vigil. I don't exactly----"

"We are all a little mad! What did that woman, Lady Maiden, mean by
talking as she did? I detest her!"

"Oh, Mr. Vigil! She has the best intentions!"

"Intentions?" said Gregory. "I loathe her! What did we go to her stuffy
drawing-room for? Look at that sky!"

Mrs. Shortman looked at the sky.

"But, Mr. Vigil," she said earnestly, "things would never get done.
Sometimes I think you look at everything too much in the light of the way
it ought to be!"

"The Milky Way," said Gregory.

Mrs. Shortman pursed her lips; she found it impossible to habituate
herself to Gregory's habit of joking.

They had scant talk for the rest of their journey to the S. R. W. C.,
where Miss Mallow, at the typewriter, was reading a novel.

"There are several letters for you, Mr. Vigil"

"Mrs. Shortman says I am unpractical," answered Gregory. "Is that true,
Miss Mallow?"

The colour in Miss Mallow's cheeks spread to her sloping shoulders.

"Oh no. You're most practical, only--perhaps--I don't know, perhaps you
do try to do rather impossible things, Mr. Vigil"

"Bilcock Buildings!"

There was a minute's silence. Then Mrs. Shortman at her bureau beginning
to dictate, the typewriter started clicking.

Gregory, who had opened a letter, was seated with his head in his hands.
The voice ceased, the typewriter ceased, but Gregory did not stir. Both
women, turning a little in their seats, glanced at him. Their eyes caught
each other's and they looked away at once. A few seconds later they were
looking at him again. Still Gregory did not stir. An anxious appeal
began to creep into the women's eyes.

"Mr. Vigil," said Mrs. Shortman at last, "Mr. Vigil, do you think---"

Gregory raised his face; it was flushed to the roots of his hair.

"Read that, Mrs. Shortman."

Handing her a pale grey letter stamped with an eagle and the motto
'Strenuus aureaque penna' he rose and paced the room. And as with his
long, light stride he was passing to and fro, the woman at the bureau
conned steadily the writing, the girl at the typewriter sat motionless
with a red and jealous face.

Mrs. Shortman folded the letter, placed it on the top of the bureau, and
said without raising her eyes--

"Of course, it is very sad for the poor little girl; but