er of people
nowadays who pull along all right, with marriage lines that are
unrecognizable from their original condition because of the patches
here and the patches there--why, they're legion!"

"Are you going to do anything about it?" she asked.

"Me? Oh, I suppose I shall have to be a sort of go-between. She's
my sister, and as far as I can see, she's pretty miserable."

On this account, then, began his first visits to Sloane Street. There,
the actors in this little play went through their parts--well trained,
well rehearsed. There was never a note of the prompter's voice to
reach the ears of Traill from the wings. He listened quietly,
sympathetically to her tardy admission of the state of affairs. Three
times he went to Sloane Street in the afternoon before he was placed
in possession of all the subtle details and never once did he meet
Durlacher. Durlacher, himself, was always away. It must be admitted
that Traill was interested in these intricate details. They gave him
insight into the vagaries, the pitfalls and the fallacies of the life
with which he had to deal in the divorce courts. Undoubtedly they
were of service to him; undoubtedly, moreover, blood is thicker than
water, and he thought, he imagined, that he would be able to save
his sister from an impending crisis.

On the third occasion, whilst they were sitting over tea in the
drawing-room, the door opened and the man-servant announced--Miss
Standish-Roe.

Traill stood up with a jerk and felt for his gloves.

Mrs. Durlacher's eyes lost no sight of that and she hurried quickly
forwards.

"My dear child, how sweet of you!" She kissed her cheek
affectionately. "Let me introduce you to my brother."

Traill turned and his mind was cast back to the night he had dined
with his sister at the restaurant. This was the girl he had noticed;
her father was the man who sat on boards in the city. He bowed with
his eyes on her face.

"Surely you're not going to go yet, Jack," said Mrs. Durlacher. Her
eyes were feverishly watching his hands as he began slowly to draw
on his gloves. He hesitated. Miss Standish-Roe took the seat he had
vacated and looked questioningly up into his face as though it were
she who had made the request.

"Very well," he said. "Then I'll have another cup of tea with you."

From that moment, and Mrs. Durlacher's heart had leaped with
exultation, she began to play for his humour, baiting the line that
she cast with those little turns