eebly wringing his hands.

But Mrs. Ibbetson was worth three of her husband, and a notorious
scold. In the laundry, later on, she announced within earshot of
Mrs. Clerihew that, as was well beknown, Clerihew had lost his last
three places for bottle-stealing; and Mrs. Royle, acknowledged virago
of St. Hospital, took up the accusation and blared it obscenely.
For a good five minutes the pair mauled Mrs. Clerihew, who, with an
air of high gentility, went on ironing shirts. She had been a lady's
maid when Clerihew married her, and could command, as a rule,
a high-bred, withering sneer. Unhappily, the united attack of Mrs.
Ibbetson and Mrs. Royle goaded her so far beyond the bounds of
breeding that of a sudden she upped and called the latter a bitch;
whereupon, feeling herself committed, this ordinarily demure woman
straightened her spine and followed up the word with a torrent of
filthy invective that took the whole laundry aback.

Her success was but momentary. Mrs. Royle had a character to
maintain. Fetching a gasp, she let fly the dirtiest word one woman
can launch at another, and on the instant made a grab at Mrs.
Clerihew's brow. . . . It was a matter of notoriety in St. Hospital
that Mrs. Clerihew wore a false "front." The thing came away in Mrs.
Royle's clutch, and amid shrieks of laughter Mrs. Royle tossed it to
Mrs. Ibbetson, who promptly clapped down a hot flat-iron upon it.
The spectators rocked with helpless mirth as the poor woman strove to
cover her bald brows, while the thing hissed and shrivelled to
nothing, emitting an acrid odour beneath the relentless flat-iron.

"Ladies! ladies!" commanded Brother Copas. "A visitor, if you
please!"

The word--as always in St. Hospital--instantly commanded a hush.
The women fled back to their tables, and started ironing, goffering,
crimping for dear life, with irons hot and cold. Brother Copas, with
a chuckle, leant back and beckoned Corona in from the yard.

At sight of her on the threshold Mrs. Royle broke into a coarse
laugh. It found no echo, and died away half-heartedly. For one
thing, there might yet be a real visitor behind the child; for
another, these women stood in some little awe of Brother Copas, who
paid well for his laundry-work, never mixed himself up with gossip,
and moreover had a formidable trick of lifting his hat whenever he
passed one of these viragoes, and after a glance at her face, fixing
an amused stare at her feet.

"Pardon me,