"No, just a little longer, it is so beautiful. Tell me; oh yes; did you
say money is the warp of the world?"

"Yes."

"Then what's the woof?"

"Very much what one chooses," said Margaret. "It's something that isn't
money--one can't say more."

"Walking at night?"

"Probably."

"For Tibby, Oxford?"

"It seems so."

"For you?"

"Now that we have to leave Wickham Place, I begin to think it's that.
For Mrs. Wilcox it was certainly Howards End."

One's own name will carry immense distances. Mr. Wilcox, who was sitting
with friends many seats away, heard this, rose to his feet, and strolled
along towards the speakers.

"It is sad to suppose that places may ever be more important than
people," continued Margaret.

"Why, Meg? They're so much nicer generally. I'd rather think of that
forester's house in Pomerania than of the fat Herr Forstmeister who
lived in it."

"I believe we shall come to care about people less and less, Helen. The
more people one knows the easier it becomes to replace them. It's one
of the curses of London. I quite expect to end my life caring most for a
place."

Here Mr. Wilcox reached them. It was several weeks since they had met.

"How do you do?" he cried. "I thought I recognised your voices. Whatever
are you both doing down here?"

His tones were protective. He implied that one ought not to sit out
on Chelsea Embankment without a male escort. Helen resented this, but
Margaret accepted it as part of the good man's equipment.

"What an age it is since I've seen you, Mr. Wilcox. I met Evie in the
Tube, though, lately. I hope you have good news of your son."

"Paul?" said Mr. Wilcox, extinguishing his cigarette, and sitting down
between them. "Oh, Paul's all right. We had a line from Madeira. He'll
be at work again by now."

"Ugh--" said Helen, shuddering from complex causes.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Isn't the climate of Nigeria too horrible?"

"Some one's got to go," he said simply. "England will never keep her
trade overseas unless she is prepared to make sacrifices. Unless we get
firm in West Africa, Ger--untold complications may follow. Now tell me
all your news."

"Oh, we've had a splendid evening," cried Helen, who always woke up at
the advent of a visitor. "We belong to a kind of club that reads papers,
Margaret and I--all women, but there is a discussion after. This evening
it was on how one ought to leave one's money--whether to one's family,
or to the poor, and if