more rapidly "I said to Mrs. Bast, 'I
have to pay a call on some friends,' and Mrs. Bast said to me, 'Do go.'
While I was gone, however, she wanted me on important business, and
thought I had come here, owing to the card, and so came after me, and I
beg to tender my apologies, and hers as well, for any inconvenience we
may have inadvertently caused you."

"No inconvenience," said Helen; "but I still don't understand."

An air of evasion characterised Mr. Bast. He explained again, but was
obviously lying, and Helen didn't see why he should get off. She had the
cruelty of youth. Neglecting her sister's pressure, she said, "I still
don't understand. When did you say you paid this call?"

"Call? What call?" said he, staring as if her question had been a
foolish one, a favourite device of those in mid-stream.

"This afternoon call."

"In the afternoon, of course!" he replied, and looked at Tibby to see
how the repartee went. But Tibby was unsympathetic, and said, "Saturday
afternoon or Sunday afternoon?"

"S--Saturday."

"Really!" said Helen; "and you were still calling on Sunday, when your
wife came here. A long visit."

"I don't call that fair," said Mr. Bast, going scarlet and handsome.
There was fight in his eyes. "I know what you mean, and it isn't so."

"Oh, don't let us mind," said Margaret, distressed again by odours from
the abyss.

"It was something else," he asserted, his elaborate manner breaking
down. "I was somewhere else to what you think, so there!"

"It was good of you to come and explain," she said. "The rest is
naturally no concern of ours."

"Yes, but I want--I wanted--have you ever read The Ordeal of Richard
Feverel?"

Margaret nodded.

"It's a beautiful book. I wanted to get back to the earth, don't you
see, like Richard does in the end. Or have you ever read Stevenson's
Prince Otto?"

Helen and Tibby groaned gently.

"That's another beautiful book. You get back to the earth in that. I
wanted--" He mouthed affectedly. Then through the mists of his culture
came a hard fact, hard as a pebble. "I walked all the Saturday night,"
said Leonard. "I walked." A thrill of approval ran through the sisters.
But culture closed in again. He asked whether they had ever read E. V.
Lucas's Open Road.

Said Helen, "No doubt it's another beautiful book, but I'd rather hear
about your road."

"Oh, I walked."

"How far?"

"I don't know, nor for how long. It got too dark to see my watch."

"Were