er for fairly lengthy periods, and it had been during one of these
periods that Mrs. Arbuthnot had taken her to a farm near Byestry, in
which place Mr. Devereux had spent most of his early years.

In those days Mrs. Arbuthnot's one hobby had been photography. People
used to say, of course unjustly, that she never beheld any view with the
naked eye, but merely in the reflector of a photographic apparatus. Yet
it is entirely obvious that she must first have regarded it in the
ordinary way to judge of its photographic merits. Anyhow it is true that
quite a good deal of her time was spent beneath the folds of a black
cloth (she never condescended to anything so amateurish as a mere kodak),
or in the seclusion of a dark room.

Veritable dark rooms being seldom procurable on her travels, she
invariably carried with her two or three curtains of thick red serge,
several rolls of brown paper, and a bottle of stickphast. The two last
mentioned were employed for covering chinks in doors, etc. It cannot be
said that it was entirely beneficial to the doors, but hotel proprietors
and landladies seldom made any complaint after the first remonstrance, as
Mrs. Arbuthnot was always ready to make handsome compensation for any
damage caused. It is to be feared that at times her generosity was
largely imposed upon.

In addition to the red curtains, the brown paper, and the stickphast, two
large boxes were included in her luggage, one containing all her
photographic necessaries, and they were not few, the other containing
several dozen albums of prints.

Of late years Bridge had taken quite as large a place in her affections
as photography. Not that she felt any rivalry between the two; her
pleasure in both pastimes was quite equally balanced. Her mornings and
early afternoons were given to photography. The late afternoons and
evenings Mrs. Arbuthnot devoted to Bridge.

* * * * *

One exceedingly wet afternoon, tea being recently concluded, Trix in her
bedroom was surveying the weather from the window.

She was debating within her mind whether to don mackintosh and souwester
and face the elements, or whether to retire to a far corner of the
drawing-room with a novel, as much as possible out of earshot of the
Bridge players. She was still in two minds as to which prospect most
appealed to her mood, when Mrs. Arbuthnot tapped on her door, and
immediately after sailed into the room. It is the onl