stituted, other
people are always involved."

"Yet there was Marian Evans ... he told me about her ... she did it, and
everyone came round to think it was very fine of her really. She wrote,
or something, didn't she?"

"She did," said Anthony, "and in several other respects her case was
not at all analogous to yours. She was a middle-aged woman--you are a
child...."

"Perhaps, but I'm not an ignorant child...."

"Oh, Meg!" Anthony protested.

"I daresay about books and things I am, but I mean I haven't been
wrapped in cotton-wool, and taken care of all my life, like Jan and Fay
... I know about things. Oh dear, oh dear, will you forbid Jan ever to
speak to me again?"

"Jan!" Anthony repeated. "Jan! Why, she's the person of all others we
want. We'll do nothing till she's here. Let's get her." And he pushed
back his chair and rushed to the bell.

Meg rushed after him: "You'll let her see me? You'll let her talk to me?
Oh, are you sure?"

The little hands clutched his arm, her ravaged, wistful face was raised
imploringly to his.

Anthony stooped and kissed the little face.

"It's just people like Jan who are put into the world to straighten
things out for the rest of us. We've wasted three-quarters of an hour
already. Now we'll get her."

"Is she on the telephone?" asked the practical Meg. "Not far off?"

* * * * *

Jan was quite used to being summoned to her father in a tremendous
hurry. She was back in St. George's Square before he started for the
dinner. Meg was lying down in one of the dismantled bedrooms, and when
Jan arrived she went straight to her father in his dressing-room.

She found him on his knees, pursuing a refractory collar-stud under the
wash-stand.

"It's well you've come," he said as he got up. "I can't fasten my collar
or my tie. I've had a devil of a time. My fingers are all thumbs and I'm
most detestably sticky."

He told Jan about Meg. She fastened his collar and arranged his tie in
the neatest of bows. Then she kissed him on both cheeks and told him not
to worry.

"How can one refrain from worrying when the works of the devil and the
selfishness of man are made manifest as they have been to-day? But for
the infinite mercy of God, where would that poor silly child have been?"

"It's just because the infinite mercy of God is so much stronger than
the works of the devil or the selfishness of man, that you needn't
worry," said Jan.

Anthony put