lly from the crowded lift which shot up the
passengers from underground. She came with slow step into the dusty
street. The flat was not far away: that was one comfort. But she
sighed impatiently as she entered the building, to be confronted with
the "Not Working" legend on the lift.

"Little wretch!" she said, alluding to the absent lift-boy. "I'm sure
he's only playing pitch-and-toss round the corner." She toiled up the
three long flights of stairs--her dainty soul revolting at their
unswept dinginess. Stella Hunt had been brought up in a big house on
a wind-swept Cumberland fell, and there was no day in crowded
Bloomsbury when she did not long for the clean open spaces of her
girlhood.

She let herself into the flat with her latch-key. Voices came to her
from the sitting-room, with a gurgle of laughter from little Michael.
She frowned.

"Eva should not have let the children in there," she thought
anxiously. "They may do some damage." She opened the door hurriedly.

No one noticed her for a moment, David Linton, with Alison on one knee
and Geoffrey on the other, was deep in a story of kangaroo-hunting.
On the floor sat Norah, with Michael tucked into her lap, his face
blissful as she told on his fat fingers the tale of the little pigs
who went to market. The box of chocolates was on the table, its
scarlet ribbon making a bright spot of colour in the drab room. The
mother looked for a minute in silence, something of the weariness
dying out of her eyes.

Then Geoffrey looked up and saw her--a slight figure, holding a paper
bag.

"Hallo!" he said. "I'm glad you didn't forget the cakes, 'cause we've
got people to tea!"

Mr. Linton placed his burden on the hearthrug, and got up.

"How are you, Mrs. Hunt? I hope you don't mind our taking possession
like this. We wanted to get acquainted."

"I could wish they were cleaner," said Mrs. Hunt, laughing, as she
shook hands. "I've seldom seen three grubbier people. Geoff, dear,
couldn't Eva have washed your face?"

"She said she hadn't time," said Geoffrey easily. "We tried to wash
Michael, but he only got more streaky."

"Oh, please don't mind, Mrs. Hunt," Norah pleaded. "They've been such
darlings!"

"I'm afraid I don't mind at all," said Mrs. Hunt, sitting down
thankfully. "I've been picturing my poor babies tired to death of not
being out--and then to come home and find them in the seventh
heaven----" She broke off, her lip quivering a litt