with Miss Nancarrow as
far as the butcher's. They won't be more than five minutes, I was to
say, if you came in.'

'Thank you, Mrs. Ladds,' Bunce replied briefly.

He came in and closed the door.

'That's a new thing,' he said, as if doubtful whether to be satisfied
or not. 'I hope she won't begin taking 'em about. Still, she isn't a
bad lot, that girl. Do you know anything of her?'

'Why, yes. I've heard of her often from Miss Trent. Isn't she a good
deal with Ackroyd?'

'Can't say. She's not a bad lot. She's going to take my Bessie down to
Eastbourne at the end of the week.'

'But why don't you go yourself? It would do you good.'

Bunce shrugged his shoulders.

'No, I can't go myself. Just for the child's sake, I have to put up
with that kind of thing, but I don't like it. It's charity, after all,
and I couldn't face those people at the home.'

'What home is it?' Grail asked. He knew, but out of delicacy wished the
explanation to come from Bunce.

'I don't know as it has any name. It seems to be in connection with the
Children's Hospital. The matron, or whatever you call her, is a Mrs.
Ormonde.'

'Oh, I know about her!' Gilbert exclaimed. 'She's a friend of Mr.
Egremont's. He's spoken of her once or twice to me. You needn't be
afraid of meeting _her_. She's a lady who has given up her own house
for this purpose: as good a woman, I believe, as lives.'

'Well,' said Bunce, doggedly, 'I'm thankful to her, but I can't face
her. What's this, I'd like to know?'

His eye caught something that looked like a small pamphlet lying near
the fireplace. He stooped to pick it up.

'If they're beginning to throw my papers about--'

The sudden silence caused Gilbert to look at him. Bunce was not a
well-favoured man, but ordinarily a rugged honesty helped the
misfortunes of his features, a sort of good-humour, too, which seemed
unable to find free play. But of a sudden his face had become
ferocious, startling in its exasperated surprise, its savage wrath. His
eyes glared blood-shot, his teeth were uncovered, his jaws protruded as
if in an animal impulse to rend.

'How's this got here?' he almost roared. 'Who brings things o' this
kind into my room? Who's put this into my children's hands?'

'What on earth is it?' Gilbert asked in amazement.

'What is it? Look at that! Look at that, I say! If this is the
landlady's work, I'll find a new room this very night!'

Gilbert tried to take the paper, but Bunce's hand,