ot pause, caring not that the bitter recriminations I
intended to hurl at her would bring forth the inevitable month's
notice; that, at the first hint of her leaving me, at least a dozen of
my neighbours would stretch out eager hands to snatch Elizabeth, a
dozen different vacant sinks were ready for her selection. I did not
care, I say; I had loved my vases and in that moment I hated Elizabeth.

But she began to speak before I did. 'It isn't as if I'd been
unlucky--I couldn't ha' 'elped _that_. But I know when I'm in the
wrong'--she unfolded a parcel she had in her hand as she spoke--'so I
went out larst night and bought these to replace what I broke. Right's
right, I always say'; and she laid down before me a pair of vases on
which were emblazoned gigantic and strangely-hued flowers that could
belong to no earthly flora.

'They're bigger'n the varses I broke,' she murmured, regarding her
purchase with satisfaction.

Then I noted that she wore an expression of lofty pride, that she
glowed with the calm satisfaction of one who has made ample reparation.
Looking at Elizabeth just then you might almost have thought that she
had a soul. Really, it gave one an odd feeling.

I picked up her offering and regarded it a moment in silence, while my
aesthetic nature shook to its foundations. Stifling the moan of horror
that had risen to my lips, I faced her with a smile. Balaclava heroes
could have done no more.

'Thank you, Elizabeth,' I said humbly.

CHAPTER IV

Marion often says that if Elizabeth hadn't . . . but I believe I
haven't told you about Marion yet. I'm afraid I shall never learn
construction, in spite of Henry.

Well, Marion is Henry's sister. She is what you would call a really
nice girl. Everybody likes her and sends for her when in trouble or
needing advice. Women adore her and tell her all their secrets, and
get her to alter their dresses for them. Men seek her company in order
to pour out their worries and anxieties into her sympathetic ear. She
is always acting as intermediary in love affairs that are not running
smoothly and need the intervention or assistance of a third party.
But--and this is where the poignant touch comes in--she never had a
love affair of her own. I could not understand why. It isn't that
she's unattractive, being quite pretty in that feminine clinging way
which we generally connect with the Victorian era.

There is a certain type of man who admires this typ