k
might have saved her, but the doctor says it might have come at any
moment, and one can only feel thankful that it was in the house and not
in the street (I should think so!). The pigeons have increased terribly,
just as the rabbits did five years ago . . .'" While she read her
husband kept nodding his head very slightly, but very steadily in sign
of approval.

Near by, Miss Allan was reading her letters too. They were not
altogether pleasant, as could be seen from the slight rigidity which
came over her large fine face as she finished reading them and replaced
them neatly in their envelopes. The lines of care and responsibility
on her face made her resemble an elderly man rather than a woman. The
letters brought her news of the failure of last year's fruit crop in New
Zealand, which was a serious matter, for Hubert, her only brother, made
his living on a fruit farm, and if it failed again, of course, he would
throw up his place, come back to England, and what were they to do with
him this time? The journey out here, which meant the loss of a term's
work, became an extravagance and not the just and wonderful holiday due
to her after fifteen years of punctual lecturing and correcting essays
upon English literature. Emily, her sister, who was a teacher also,
wrote: "We ought to be prepared, though I have no doubt Hubert will be
more reasonable this time." And then went on in her sensible way to say
that she was enjoying a very jolly time in the Lakes. "They are looking
exceedingly pretty just now. I have seldom seen the trees so forward at
this time of year. We have taken our lunch out several days. Old Alice
is as young as ever, and asks after every one affectionately. The days
pass very quickly, and term will soon be here. Political prospects _not_
good, I think privately, but do not like to damp Ellen's enthusiasm.
Lloyd George has taken the Bill up, but so have many before now, and we
are where we are; but trust to find myself mistaken. Anyhow, we have our
work cut out for us. . . . Surely Meredith lacks the _human_ note one
likes in W. W.?" she concluded, and went on to discuss some questions of
English literature which Miss Allan had raised in her last letter.

At a little distance from Miss Allan, on a seat shaded and made
semi-private by a thick clump of palm trees, Arthur and Susan
were reading each other's letters. The big slashing manuscripts of
hockey-playing young women in Wiltshire lay on Arthur's knee, w