the wife of twenty-three years ago in the very middle-aged person Aunt
M'riar saw in the half of a looking-glass that Mr. Bartlett's careful
myrmidons had not broken? Would she recognise him? Need either see the
other? Well--no! Communications might be restricted to speech through a
door with the chain up.

She took the boy Michael freely into her confidence about her
unwillingness to see this man. But that she could do on the strength of
his bad character; her own relation to him of course remained concealed.
She puzzled her confidant not a little by her seeming inconsistency--so
repugnant was she to the miscreant himself, yet so anxious that he
should not fall into the hands of the Police. Micky kept his perplexity
to himself, justifying his mother's estimate of his character.

But this much was clearly understood between them, that should the
convict be seen by Micky on his way to the house, he should forthwith
take one of two courses. If Uncle Mo was absent at the time, he was to
warn Aunt M'riar of Mr. Wix's approach. If otherwise, he was to warn the
unwelcome visitor of the risk he would run if he persisted in his
attempt to procure an interview. Of course the chances were that Micky
would be away on business, selling apples, potatoes, and turnips.

As it turned out, however, he was able to observe one of the conditions
of this compact.

* * * * *

It was on the Tuesday following the boy's visit to his great-aunt that
Mrs. Tapping had words with her daughter Alethea. They arose out of
Alethea's young man, an upstart. At least, he was so designated by Mrs.
Tapping, for aspiring to the hand of this young lady; who, though plain
by comparison with her mother at the same age, and no more figure than
what you see, was that sharp with her tongue when provoked, it made your
flesh curdle within you to hear her expressions. We need hardly say that
we have to rely on her mother for these facts. It was, however, the
extraction of Alethea that determined the presumptuousness of her young
man's aspirations. He was marrying into two families, the Tappings and
the Davises, which, though neither of them lordly, had always held their
heads high and their behaviour according. Whereas this young Tom was
metaphorically nobody, though actually in a shoe-shop and giving
satisfaction to his employers, with twenty-one shillings a week certain
and a rise at Christmas. You cannot do that unless you are a