her wise counsel which has kept me out of the
hands of the hangman; but that is not so.

I have not seen Bates again, and I have planned not to see him again,
lest at the sight of him I should forget a decision to which I came when
that kid of Mrs Crewe's sat up in bed and called upon God to save the
King.

THE SATYR

Myra Larose was a good governess, capable, and highly certificated.

At Salston Hill School they rewarded her services with forty pounds per
annum, and board and lodging during term-time. She had often been
fortunate enough to secure private pupils for the holidays, and she knew
a stationer who bought hand-painted Christmas cards. At the end of four
years' work she had thirty-five pounds saved and in the Post Office. And
then Aunt Jane, the last of her relatives, died, and left her a fine two
hundred and fifty. This meant another ten pounds per annum.

Things were not so bad, but they did not, of course, justify the very
mad idea that came into her pretty head--a head that, so far, had proved
itself sane and practical.

The girls of the school considered that Miss Larose was strict but just,
and that she had nice eyes. The principal, Mrs Dewlop, when prostrate
from the horrible Davenant scandal, had declared that she would never
think highly of any human being again; but she did think highly of Myra,
even to the extent of considering the possibility of an increase of
salary. Myra's fellow-teachers thought her sensible, and chaffed her
mildly at times about her economies and her accumulation of wealth. No
one would have supposed her capable of anything wild and extravagant.

Possibly a book that she had been reading put the idea into her head.
Then there was the accident that nearly all her clothes were new
simultaneously. Her eyes fell on the advertisement which showed her the
advantages of hiring a petrol landaulet by the day in London. Thoughts
of the theatre swam into her head. She loved the theatre, and had not
been in one for years. She might lunch at the Ritz. She might deny
herself nothing--for one day. Grey routine and miserable economies
suddenly found her insurgent. Yes, she would have one great day--one day
during which she would live at the rate of two thousand a year.

So, on one splendid morning, at the station of her northern suburb, she
had occasion to be severe with the booking-clerk. ("I said _first_
return--not third. You should pay more attention.") She bought a
sixpenn