he was married,
this one conveyed a subtle impression of being the mistress of the
house. She was dark, athletic, simply dressed in black, and extremely
plain.

"'Father will be back from the city at half-past four,' she said, when I
had explained my errand. 'I am so sorry you will have to wait. You will
stay to dinner, of course.'

"I said I did not know if I should stay to dinner as a matter of course,
but I thanked her. We drifted into conversation and she gave a very
clever impression of being a thorough woman of the world. She was not,
of course. She was one of those unfortunate beings who are trained in
all the arts of life and who become adepts in all those accomplishments
which men take entirely for granted, and who are permitted to grow up
imagining men are paladins. And when they marry they experience a shock
from which they never recover. Being married is such a different affair
from looking after your father's house. When I mentioned my errand, she
said her mother and the widowed aunt were at Torquay. Her plain features
were suffused with emotion when she mentioned the death of her uncle.
She had been his favourite niece. He always paid them a brief visit when
he came to London. Very brief. He had a great many people to see in
town. Only last year he had given her a set of pearls. And Madame
Kinaitsky was so young--it was tragic. The pater had gone over and met
her in Paris and she would live with them in future. She stopped in the
middle of this and looked at me.

"'You met her, of course, out there?' she asked.

"'Oh, dear no,' I said. "I am only a very casual acquaintance, you
understand. I happened to be on the spot, and the very fact that I was
not a regular friend gave your uncle the idea that his papers, whatever
they are, would be safer with me. I was only too pleased to be of
service. You see,' I went on, 'your uncle knew a friend of mine, and
so....

"'A friend of yours?' she queried.

"'Yes, a business friend. Your uncle helped him and his daughter. It
was the daughter I knew particularly.'

"'Was she nice?' she demanded, eagerly. 'I mean, was she worthy of his
help? He was so good. He helped everybody. There is an orphanage in
Saloniki which he supported--oh, most generously. And he asked nothing
in return. Oh!' she exclaimed, 'when I think of his life, always
thinking of others and doing good, and how at last he found happiness
for himself, and then this....' and she gazed out of the wi