drawing-room yesterday. It goes on
day after day, year after year, through the whole of people's lives.'

'You are on friendly terms with such people?'

'I am on friendly terms with people of every kind.' He added, in an
undertone, 'I hope I may include you, Miss Nunn?'

But to this she paid no attention. She was looking at Monica and Miss
Barfoot, who had just risen from their seats. They approached, and
presently Barfoot found himself alone with the familiar pair.

'Another cup of tea, Everard?' asked his cousin.

'Thank you. Who was the young lady you didn't introduce me to?'

'Miss Haven--one of our pupils.'

'Does she think of going into business?'

'She has just got a place in the publishing department of a weekly
paper.'

'But really--from the few words of her talk that fell upon my ear I
should have thought her a highly educated girl.'

'So she is,' replied Miss Barfoot. 'What is your objection?'

'Why doesn't she aim at some better position?'

Miss Barfoot and Rhoda exchanged smiles.

'But nothing could be better for her. Some day she hopes to start a
paper of her own, and to learn all the details of such business is just
what she wants. Oh, you are still very conventional, Everard. You meant
she ought to take up something graceful and pretty--something ladylike.'

'No, no. It's all right. I thoroughly approve. And when Miss Haven
starts her paper, Miss Nunn will write for it.'

'I hope so,' assented his cousin.

'You make me feel that I am in touch with the great movements of our
time. It's delightful to know you. But come now, isn't there any way in
which I could help?'

Mary laughed.

'None whatever, I'm afraid.'

'Well,--"They also serve who only stand and wait."'

If Everard had pleased himself he would have visited the house in
Queen's Road every other day. As this might not be, he spent a good
deal of his time in other society, not caring to read much, or
otherwise occupy his solitude. Starting with one or two acquaintances
in London, people of means and position, he easily extended his social
sphere. Had he cared to marry, he might, notwithstanding his poverty,
have wooed with fair chance in a certain wealthy family, where two
daughters, the sole children, plain but well-instructed girls, waited
for the men of brains who should appreciate them. So rare in society,
these men of brains, and, alas! so frequently deserted by their wisdom
when it comes to choosing a wife. It being h