worsted mats,
and china ornaments. She had done it gaily and with a sense of clearing
the air.

Now as Grace's hour approached she was not so sure.

"Well, I'm not afraid," she reassured herself with her favourite
defiance. "She can't eat me. And it's my house."

Paul had not noticed the alterations. He was always blind to his
surroundings unless they were what he called "queer."

There was the rattle of the cab-wheels on the drive and a moment later
Grace was in the hall.

"Dear Paul--Maggie, dear ..."

She stood there, a very solid and assured figure. She was square and
thick and reminded Maggie to-day of Mrs. Noah; her clothes stood cut
out around her as though they had been cut in wood. She had her large
amiable smile, and the kiss that she gave Maggie was a wet, soft, and
very friendly one.

"Now I think I'll have tea at once without taking my hat off. In Paul's
study? That's nice ... Maggie, dear, how are you? Such a journey! But
astonishing! Just fancy! I got into Charing Cross and then--! Why!
Here's the study! Fancy! ... Maggie, dear, how are you? Well? That's
right. Why, there's tea! That's right. Everything just as it was.
Fancy! ..." She took off her gloves, smiled, seated herself more
comfortably, then began to look about the room. Suddenly there came:
"Why, Paul, where's the Emmanuel football group?"

There was a moment's silence. Maggie felt her heart give a little bump,
as it seemed to her, right against the roof of her mouth. Paul (so like
him) had not noticed that the football group had vanished. He stared at
the blank place on the wall where it had once been.

"Why, Grace ... I don't know. I never noticed it wasn't there."

"I took it down," said Maggie. "I thought there were too many
photographs. It's in the attic."

"In the attic? ... Fancy! You put it away, did you, Maggie? Well,
fancy! Shan't I make the tea, Maggie, dear? That tea-pot, it's an old
friend of mine. I know how to manage it."

They changed seats. Grace was as amiable as ever, but now her eyes
flashed about from place to place all around the room.

"Why, this is a new kind of jam. How nice! As I was saying, I got into
Charing Cross and there wasn't a porter. Just fancy! At least there was
a porter, an old man, but when I beckoned to him he wouldn't move.
Well, I was angry. I can tell you, Paul, I wasn't going to stand that,
so I-what nice jam, dear. I never knew Mitchell's had jam like this!"

"I didn't get it at Mit