didn't, and then others
again had better be careful. Oh dear, she was incompetent! She had
a face like a silkworm, and the dining-room reeks of orris-root. We
chatted pleasantly a little about husbands, and I wondered where hers
was too, and advised her to go to the police. She thanked me. We agreed
that Mr. Lanoline's a notty, notty man, and hasn't no business to go
on the lardy-da. But I think she suspected me up to the last. Bags I
writing to Aunt Juley about this. Now, Meg, remember--bags I."

"Bag it by all means," murmured Margaret, putting down her work. "I'm
not sure that this is so funny, Helen. It means some horrible volcano
smoking somewhere, doesn't it?"

"I don't think so--she doesn't really mind. The admirable creature isn't
capable of tragedy."

"Her husband may be, though," said Margaret, moving to the window.

"Oh no, not likely. No one capable of tragedy could have married Mrs.
Lanoline."

"Was she pretty?"

"Her figure may have been good once."

The flats, their only outlook, hung like an ornate curtain between
Margaret and the welter of London. Her thoughts turned sadly
to house-hunting. Wickham Place had been so safe. She feared,
fantastically, that her own little flock might be moving into turmoil
and squalor, into nearer contact with such episodes as these.

"Tibby and I have again been wondering where we'll live next September,"
she said at last.

"Tibby had better first wonder what he'll do," retorted Helen; and that
topic was resumed, but with acrimony. Then tea came, and after tea Helen
went on preparing her speech, and Margaret prepared one, too, for they
were going out to a discussion society on the morrow. But her thoughts
were poisoned. Mrs. Lanoline had risen out of the abyss, like a faint
smell, a goblin football, telling of a life where love and hatred had
both decayed.

CHAPTER XIV

The mystery, like so many mysteries, was explained. Next day, just as
they were dressed to go out to dinner, a Mr. Bast called. He was a clerk
in the employment of the Porphyrion Fire Insurance Company. Thus much
from his card. He had come "about the lady yesterday." Thus much from
Annie, who had shown him into the dining-room.

"Cheers, children!" cried Helen. "It's Mrs. Lanoline."

Tibby was interested. The three hurried downstairs, to find, not the
gay dog they expected, but a young man, colourless, toneless, who had
already the mournful eyes above a drooping moustache that are so
c