f course there were the
Draytons; you must have heard of Mr. Herbert Drayton--he paints
things--I forget quite what, but I know he's good. They all lived
there--such a lot of them and most peculiar in their habits; but one
gets used to anything. They all lived together for some time, about
fifteen there were. Mother and I dined there once or twice, and they
had the funniest dining-room with pictures of Job all round the room
that were most queer and rather disagreeable; and they all liked
different things to drink, so they each had a bottle--of
something--separately. It looked quite funny to see the fifteen
bottles, and then 'Job' on the wall, you know."

But he really hadn't paid very much attention to her. He had been
thinking and wondering. How was it that a man like Bethel had married
such a wife? He supposed that things had been different twenty years
ago, with them as with him. It was strange to think of the difference
that twenty years could make. She had been, perhaps, a little pretty,
dainty thing then--the style of girl that a strong man like Bethel
would fall in love with. Then he thought of Miss Bethel--what was her
life with a mother like that and a father who never thought about her
at all? She must, he thought, be lonely. He almost hoped that she
was. It gave them kinship, because he was lonely too. The
conversation was not very animated; Mrs. Bethel was suddenly
silent--she seemed to have collapsed with the effort, and sat huddled
up in her chair, with her hands in her lap.

He realised that he had said nothing to Miss Bethel, and he turned to
her. "You know London?" he said. He wondered whether she longed for
it sometimes--its excitement and life.

"Oh yes," she said quickly; "we were there, you know, a long while ago,
and I've been up once or twice since. But it makes one feel so
dreadfully small, as if one simply didn't count, and no woman likes
that."

"Pendragon makes one feel smaller," Harry said. "When one is of no
account even in a small place, then one is small indeed."

He had not intended to speak bitterly, but she had caught the sound of
it in his voice and she was suddenly sorry for him. She had been a
little afraid of him before--even on that terrible afternoon at "The
Flutes"; but now she saw that he was disappointed--he had expected
something and it had failed him.

She said nothing then, and the meal came to an end. Bethel dragged
Harry into his study to see t