t
on her knees. It was a long letter on crinkly paper, written in a large,
dashing, sprawling hand, full of curls, generosities, extravagances.

"She says," said Lucy, "(Please listen, Denis,) that--that they want
money."

"I somehow thought that would be what she said," Denis murmured, still
half preoccupied. "I'm sure she's right."

"A woman who writes a hand like that," put in Lord Evelyn, "will always
spend more than she has. A hole in the purse; a hole in the purse."

"She says," went on Lucy, looking through the letter with wrinkled
forehead, "that they're all very hard-up indeed. Of course, I knew that;
I can see it whenever I go there; only Peter will never take more than
silly little clothes and things for Thomas. And now Peggy says they're in
great straits; Thomas is going to teethe or something, and wants better
milk, all from one cow, and they're all awfully in debt."

"I should fancy that was chronic," remarked Denis, turning to Essence of
Parliament.

"A hole in the purse, a hole in the purse," muttered Lord Evelyn, tapping
with his eye-glass.

"Peggy says that Peter won't ask for help himself, but he's let her,
it seems. And their boarders are nearly all gone, one of them quite
suddenly, without paying a sixpence for all the time he was there."

"I suppose he didn't think he'd had sixpence worth," said Denis. "He was
probably right."

"And Thomas is still very delicate after his bronchitis, and Peter's got
a bad cold on the chest and wants more cough-mixture than they can afford
to buy; and they owe money to the butcher and the fishmonger and the
baker and the doctor and the tailor, and Hilary's lost his latest job and
isn't earning anything at all. So I suppose Peter is keeping the family."

"Scamps; scamps all," muttered Lord Evelyn. "Deserve all they get, and
more. People like the Margerisons an't worth helping. They'd best go
under at once; best go under. Swindlers and scamps, the lot of them.
I daresay the woman's stories are half lies; of course, they want money,
but it's probably only to spend on nonsense. Why can't they keep
themselves, like decent people?"

"Oh," said Lucy, dismissing that as absurd, "they can't. Of course they
can't. They never could ... Denis."

"Lucy." Denis absently put out a hand to meet hers.

"How much shall we give them, Denis?"

Denis dropped Punch onto the floor, and lay back with his hands clasped
behind his fair head. Lucy, looking at his up-turned, f