les round," replied Mrs. Gascoigne, the
new-comer. "And, of course, the little town, about four miles from
here, near where the ships anchor, simply couldn't hold another wife if
you tried to lever one in with a shoe-horn!"

"And then," continued their hostess, measuring out the tea into the
pot, "of course, there are some selfish brutes who stay on all the
time--I'm one of them," she added pathetically. "But it's no use being
a hypocrite about it. I'd stay on if they all put me in Coventry and I
had to pawn my wedding ring to pay for my rooms. One feels nearer,
somehow.... Do sit down all of you. There's nothing to eat except
scones and jam, but the tea is nice and hot, and considering I bought
it at that little shop near the manse, it looks and smells very like
real tea."

"I suppose, then, all the rooms are dreadfully expensive," said Betty.

"Expensive!" echoed the fair girl, consuming her buttered scone with
frank enjoyment. "You could live at the Ritz or Waldorf a good deal
cheaper than in some of these crofter's cottages. You see, until the
War began they never let anything in their lives. No one ever wanted
to come and live here. Of course, there are nice women--like your Miss
McCallum, for example--who won't take advantage of the enormous demand,
and stick to reasonable prices. More honour to them! But if you could
see some of the hovels for which they are demanding six and seven
guineas a week--and, what's more, getting it...."

"I'm afraid we are giving Mrs. Standish an altogether rather gloomy
picture of the place," said Mrs. Gascoigne. She turned to Betty with a
reassuring smile. "You don't have to pay anything to be out of doors,"
she said. "That much is free, even here; it's perfectly delightful
country, and when the weather improves a bit we have picnics and walks
and even do a little fishing in an amateurish sort of way. It all
helps to pass the time...."

"But it's not only the prices that turn one's hair grey up here,"
continued Mrs. Cavendish. "That little Mrs. Thatcher--her husband is
in a Destroyer or something--told me that her landlady has false
teeth...." The speaker extended a slender forefinger, to which she
imparted a little wriggling motion. "They wobble ... like that--when
she talks. She always talks when she brings in meals.... I suppose
it's funny, really----" She lapsed into her liquid giggle. "But poor
Mrs. Thatcher nearly cried when she told me about it. Im