ed her trust.

And not only has she read more than I have, but she has become steadily
dirtier than I, too; partly because of a native _flair_ for whatever
makes smears and smudges, and partly because, her hair being long and
falling on the page, owing to her crouched attitude when perusing, it
has to be swept back, and each sweep leaves its mark. Considering how
they set themselves up to be superior and instruct, books are curiously
grubby things.

And, as I said before, they should be in one volume.

* * * * *

Illustration: _First Politician._ "SAY, BILL, WOT'S THIS BLOOMIN'
MORTUARIUM THEY BE TARKIN' SO MUCH ABOUT?"

_Second Politician._ "WELL, YE SEE, IT'S LIKE THIS. YOU DON'T PAY
NOTHIN' TO NOBODY AND THE GOVERNMENT PAYS IT FOR YE."

_First Politician._ "WELL, THAT SOUNDS A BIT OF ALL RIGHT, DOAN'T IT?"

* * * * *

THE PROBLEM OF LIFE.

The noise of the retreating sea came pleasantly to us from a distance.
Celia was lying on her--I never know how to put this nicely--well, she
was lying face downwards on a rock and gazing into a little pool which
the tide had forgotten about and left behind. I sat beside her and
annoyed a limpet. Three minutes ago I had taken it suddenly by surprise
and with an Herculean effort moved it an eighteenth of a millimetre
westwards. My silence since then was lulling it into a false security,
and in another two minutes I hoped to get a move on it again.

"Do you know," said Celia with a puzzled look on her face, "sometimes I
think I'm quite an ordinary person after all."

"You aren't a little bit," I said lazily; "you're just like nobody else
in the world."

"Well, of course, you had to say that."

"No, I hadn't. Lots of husbands would merely have yawned." I felt one
coming and stopped it just in time. Waiting for limpets to go to sleep
is drowsy work. "But why are you so morbid about yourself suddenly?"

"I don't know," she said. "Only every now and then I find myself
thinking the most _obvious_ thoughts."

"We all do," I answered, as I stroked my limpet gently. The noise of our
conversation had roused it, but a gentle stroking motion (I am told by
those to whom it has confided) will frequently cause its muscles to
relax. "The great thing is not to speak them. Still, you'd better tell
me now. What is it?"

"Well," she said, her cheeks perhaps a little pinker than usual, "I was
just thinking that life was ve