nihilation."

"If there should be no Beyond," muttered Mrs. Temperley.

"That to me is inconceivable. When we die we fall into an eternal sleep.
Moreover, I can see no creed that does not add the fear of future
torments to the certainties of these."

Mrs. Temperley was seized with a bitter mood. "You should cultivate
faith," she said; "it acts the part of the heading 'Sundries omitted' in
one's weekly accounts; one can put down under it everything that can't
be understood--but you don't keep weekly accounts, so it's no use
pointing out to you the peace that comes of that device."

The entrance of Sophia with firewood turned the current of conversation.
"Good heavens! I don't think we have anything for lunch!" Mrs. Temperley
exclaimed. "Are you very hungry? What is to be done? It was the
faithlessness of our butcher that disturbed the serenity of my mood this
morning. Perhaps the poor beast whose carcase we were intending to
devour will feel serene instead of me: but, alas! I fear he has been
slaughtered _quand meme_. That is one of the unsatisfactory things about
life: that all its worst miseries bring good to no one. One may deny
oneself, but not a living thing is necessarily the better for
it--generally many are the worse. The wheels of pain go turning day by
day, and the gods stand aloof--they will not help us, nor will they stay
the 'wild world' in its course. No, no," added Mrs. Temperley with a
laugh, "I am not tired of life, but I am tired _with_ it; it won't give
me what I want. That is perhaps because I want so much."

The sound of male footsteps in the hall broke up the colloquy.

"Good heavens! Hubert has brought home a crowd of people to lunch,"
exclaimed Hadria, "a thing he scarcely ever does. What fatality can have
induced him to choose to-day of all others for this orgy of
hospitality?"

"Does the day matter?" enquired Valeria, astonished at so much emotion.

"_Does the day matter!_ Oh irresponsible question of the unwedded! When
I tell you the butcher has not sent the meat."

"Oh ... can't one eat fish?" suggested Miss Du Prel.

Hadria laughed and opened the door.

"My dear, I have brought Fleming home to lunch."

"Thank heaven, _only one!_"

Temperley stared.

"I could not conveniently have brought home several," he said.

"I thought you would be at least seven," cried the mistress of the
house, "and with all the pertinacity of Wordsworth's little girl."

"What _do_ you mean, if one m