"This good woman
writes so close to economize paper that she leaves no room for her
signature and goes in for her initial. I was wanting to know her
Christian name. Do you know it? And see--she has to take more paper
after all! Here's a postscript."

"P.S.--There is another reason why it is better not to have my
mother back till Mrs. Prichard goes, she herself having been much
upset by a man who said he was Mrs. Prichard's son, and was looking
for his mother. My son-in-law, John Costrell, came over to tell me.
This man had startled and alarmed my mother _very much_. I should
be sorry he should come here to make Mrs. Prichard worse, but my
mother is no doubt best away. I am not afraid of him myself,
because of our dog."

"That dog is a treasure," said the Earl, re-enveloping the letter. "What
are those other letters? Irene's?... And what?"

"I was trying to think of Mrs. Thrale's Christian name. I don't think I
know it.... Yes--Irene's, and some papers I want you to lock up, for
me." Gwen went on to tell of the inroad on Mrs. Prichard's _secretaire_,
and explained that she was absolutely certain of forgiveness. "Only you
will keep them safer than I shall, in your big ebony cabinet. I think I
can trust you to give them back." She laid them on the table, gave her
father an affectionate double-barrelled kiss, and went away to bed. It
was very late indeed.

Mr. Norbury, in London, always outlived everyone else at night. The Earl
rather found a satisfaction, at the Towers, in being the last to leave
port, on a voyage over the Ocean of Sleep. In London it was otherwise,
but not explicably. The genesis of usage in households is a very
interesting subject, but the mere chronicler can only accept facts, not
inquire into causes. Mr. Norbury always _did_ give the Earl a send-off
towards Dreamland, and saw the house deserted, before he vanished to a
secret den in the basement.

"Norbury," said the Earl, sending the pilot off, metaphorically. "You
know the two widows, mother and daughter, at Chorlton-under-Bradbury?
Strides Cottage."

"Yes, indeed, my lord! All my life. I knew the old lady when she came
from Darenth, in Essex, to marry her second husband, Marrable." Norbury
gave other particulars which the story knows.

"Then Widow Thrale is not Granny Marrable's daughter, though she calls
her mother?"

"That is the case, my lord. She was a pretty little girl--maybe eleven
years old