r, the personification of defeat. The change had
operated in five minutes.

Mrs Capron-Smith and Denry glanced at each other, and even Mrs
Capron-Smith was at a loss for a moment. Then Ruth approached Mrs
Cotterill and took her hand. Perhaps Mrs Capron-Smith was not so
astonished after all. She and Nellie's mother had always been "very
friendly." And in the Five Towns "very friendly" means a lot.

"Perhaps if you were to leave us," Ruth suggested, twisting her head to
glance at Denry.

It was exactly what he desired to do. There could be no doubt that Ruth
was supremely a woman of the world. Her tact was faultless.

He left them, saying to himself: "Well, here's a go!"

In the hall, through an open door, he saw Councillor Cotterill standing
against the dining-room mantelpiece.

When Cotterill caught sight of Denry he straightened himself into a
certain uneasy perkiness.

"Young man," he said in a counterfeit of his old patronising tone, "come
in here. You may as well hear about it. You're a friend of ours. Come in
and shut the door."

Nellie was not in view.

Denry went in and shut the door.

"Sit down," said Cotterill.

And it was just as if he had said: "Now, you're a fairly bright sort of
youth, and you haven't done so badly in life; and as a reward I mean to
admit you to the privilege of hearing about our ill-luck, which for some
mysterious reason reflects more credit on me than your good luck
reflects on you, young man."

And he stroked his straggling grey beard.

"I'm going to file my petition to-morrow," said he, and gave a short
laugh.

"Really!" said Denry, who could think of nothing else to say. His name
was not Capron-Smith.

"Yes; they won't leave me any alternative," said Mr Cotterill.

Then he gave a brief history of his late commercial career to the young
man. And he seemed to figure it as a sort of tug-of-war between his
creditors and his debtors, he himself being the rope. He seemed to imply
that he had always done his sincere best to attain the greatest good of
the greatest number, but that those wrong-headed creditors had
consistently thwarted him.

However, he bore them no grudge. It was the fortune of the tug-of-war.
He pretended, with shabby magnificence of spirit, that a bankruptcy at
the age of near sixty, in a community where one has cut a figure, is a
mere passing episode.

"Are you surprised?" he asked foolishly, with a sheepish smile.

Denry took vengeance for all th