he was anywhere
else!--Irene's letter was freely handed round the table and made the
subject of comment.

"It won't do to build upon it," said Cousin Clo.

"Why not?" said Gwen.

"It never does to be led away," said Miss Dickenson. Her reputation for
sagacity had to be maintained.

"Doesn't it?" said Gwen.

Mr. Pellew was bound, in consideration of his company, to dwell upon the
desirableness of keeping an even mind. Having done full justice to this
side of the subject, he added a rider. He had always said the chances
were ten to one Torrens would recover his eyesight, and this sort of
thing looked uncommonly like it. Now didn't it? Whereupon Gwen, who
shook hands with him across the table to show her approval, said that
anyhow she must hear Adrian's own account of this occurrence from his
own mouth forthwith, and she should go back to-morrow to the Towers, and
insist upon driving over to Pensham Steynes, whether or no!

Miss Grahame remonstrated with her later, when Aunt Constance and her
swain had departed to some dissipation--the story is not sure it was not
Madame Tussaud's--and pointed out that she really had solemnly promised
not to see Mr. Torrens for six months. She admitted this, but
counterpointed out that she could just see him for half an hour to hear
his own account of the incident, and then they could begin fair. She was
a girl of her word, and meant to keep it. Only, no date had been fixed.
As for her pledges to assist her cousin's schemes for benefiting Sapps
Court and its analogues, in Drury Lane or elsewhere, was she not going
to carry off the old fairy godmother she had discovered and give her
such a dose of fresh air and good living as she had not had for twenty
years past? Could any Patron Saint of Philanthropy ask more?

Gwen, of course, had her way. She did not cut her visit to Cavendish
Square needlessly short. She remained there long enough to give some
colour to the pretext that she was exploring slums with philanthropy in
view, and actually to make a visit with her cousin to the reconstructed
home of the Wardles in Sapps Court. But no response came to knocking at
door or window, and it was evident that Aunt M'riar had not returned.
Michael Ragstroar, the making of whose acquaintance on this occasion
gratified both ladies, offered to go to The Sun for Uncle Mo and bring
him round; but his offer was declined, as their time was limited. This
must have been a few days before the return of