with a smile.

Mrs. Shortman looked at him reproachfully.

"Joking apart, Mr. Vigil, it's touch and go with our paper as it is; we
really can't afford it. I've had lots of letters lately complaining that
we put the cases unnecessarily strongly. Here's one:

"'BOURNEFIELD RECTORY,

"'November 1.

"'DEAR MADAM,

"'While sympathising with your good work, I am afraid I cannot become
a subscriber to your paper while it takes its present form, as I do
not feel that it is always fit reading for my girls. I cannot think
it either wise or right that they should become acquainted with such
dreadful aspects of life, however true they may be.

"'I am, dear madam,

"'Respectfully yours,

"'WINIFRED TUDDENHAM.

"'P.S.--I could never feel sure, too, that my maids would not pick it
up, and perhaps take harm.'"

"I had that only this morning."

Gregory buried his face in his hands, and sitting thus he looked so like
a man praying that no one spoke. When he raised his face it was to say:

"Not 'forgive,' Mrs. Shortman, not 'forgive'!"

Mrs. Shortman ran her pen through the word.

"Very well, Mr. Vigil," she said; "it's a risk."

The sound of the typewriter, which had been hushed, began again from the
corner.

"That case of drink, Mr. Vigil--Millicent Porter--I'm afraid there's
very little hope there."

Gregory asked:

"What now?"

"Relapsed again; it's the fifth time."

Gregory turned his face to the window, and looked at the sky.

"I must go and see her. Just give me her address."

Mrs. Shortman read from a green book:

"'Mrs. Porter, 2 Bilcock Buildings, Bloomsbury.' Mr. Vigil!"

"Yes."

"Mr. Vigil, I do sometimes wish you would not persevere so long with
those hopeless cases; they never seem to come to anything, and your time
is so valuable."

"How can I give them up, Mrs. Shortman? There's no choice."

"But, Mr. Vigil, why is there no choice? You must draw the line
somewhere. Do forgive me for saying that I think you sometimes waste
your time."

Gregory turned to the girl at the typewriter.

"Miss Mallow, is Mrs. Shortman right? do I waste my time?"

The girl at the typewriter blushed vividly, and, without looking round,
said:

"How can I tell, Mr. Vigil? But it does worry one."

A humorous and perplexed smile passed over Gregory's lips.

"Now I know I shall cure her," he said. "2 Bilcock Buildings." And he
continued to look at the sky. "How's your neuralgia, Mrs. Shortman?"

Mrs.