Martin.

Thyme stood at the window, biting her lips to keep the tears back from
her eyes. A very pleasant voice behind her said: "I do think it's so
splendid of you to come!"

A girl in grey was standing there--thin, delicate, rather plain, with
a nose ever so little to one side, lips faintly smiling, and large,
shining, greenish eyes.

"I am Mary Daunt. I live above you. Have you had some tea?"

In the gentle question of this girl with the faintly smiling lips and
shining eyes Thyme fancied that she detected mockery.

"Yes, thanks. I want to be shown what my work's to be, at once, please."

The grey girl looked at Martin.

"Oh! Won't to-morrow do for all that sort of thing? I'm sure you must be
tired. Mr. Stone, do make her rest!"

Martin's glance seemed to say: 'Please leave your femininities!'

"If you mean business, your work will be the same as hers," he said;
"you're not qualified. All you can do will be visiting, noting the state
of the houses and the condition of the children."

The girl in grey said gently: "You see, we only deal with sanitation
and the children. It seems hard on the grown people and the old to leave
them out; but there's sure to be so much less money than we want, so
that it must all go towards the future."

There was a silence. The girl with the shining eyes added softly:
"1950!"

"1950!" repeated Martin. It seemed to be some formula of faith.

"I must send this telegram!" muttered Thyme.

Martin took it from her and went out.

Left alone in the little room, the two girls did not at first speak. The
girl in grey was watching Thyme half timidly, as if she could not tell
what to make of this young creature who looked so charming, and kept
shooting such distrustful glances.

"I think it's so awfully sweet of you to come," she said at last. "I
know what a good time you have at home; your cousin's often told me.
Don't you think he's splendid?"

To that question Thyme made no answer.

"Isn't this work horrid," she said--"prying into people's houses?"

The grey girl smiled. "It is rather awful sometimes. I've been at it six
months now. You get used to it. I've had all the worst things said to me
by now, I should think."

Thyme shuddered.

"You see," said the grey girl's faintly smiling lips, "you soon get the
feeling of having to go through with it. We all realise it's got to be
done, of course. Your cousin's one of the best of us; nothing seems to
put him out. He has such