ing generously in so doing. Mary had "managed" on
thirty for a dozen years. Teresa managed for two, and then relinquished
the struggle. She made no moan, for moans would have had no avail,
except to bring about her ears a harvest of precepts. Teresa informed
her sister that "they must be shown," and she proceeded to show them.
She bought no new dress, she went about with her parents in aggressively
shabby clothes, she walked incredible distances to save twopences, and
thereby made herself late for meals; in short she demonstrated to her
old-fashioned parents, that if they wished to possess a pretty,
creditable daughter they must be prepared to pay for her. The allowance
was increased to fifty, and Mary languished beneath a sense of injury.
Thirty had been considered enough for _her_!

On the morning after Grizel Beverley's reception the Mallison quartette
was assembled at breakfast in the stiff, sunless morning room. Mrs
Mallison poured out coffee; Major Mallison sat facing her before the
silver bacon dish, the morning light streaming in on his tired,
discouraged face. Mary sat on the right, opposite the toast-rack and
the egg-stand. Teresa on the left, by the marmalade and honey jar. The
_Morning Post_ lay neatly folded on the sideboard. Mrs Mallison
approved of sociability at meals; conversation helped digestion. When
the Major declared that he loathed general conversation at breakfast,
and would rather be left in peace than listen to the finest
conversationalist alive, he was told that he was unamiable and selfish,
and a burden of regret prophesied for him also "when he had _no_ one to
talk to!"

Mrs Mallison poured out four cups of coffee, made her usual lament _re_
the price of bacon, and cast a disapproving eye on Teresa's blue _crepe_
blouse.

"I thought, my dear, that you were going to church this morning to
decorate the chancel."

"I am, Mother."

"In that blouse?"

"Certainly. Why not?"

"Most unsuitable. Too light. A dark flannel is the right thing for the
occasion. You will have time to change it before you start. Don't
forget!"

Teresa cast down her eyes and applied herself steadily to bacon. She
had not the slightest intention of wearing a dark flannel blouse. The
blue _crepe_ had been chosen, not for its durability, but that it might
look pleasant in the eyes of Dane Peignton. All the mothers in the
world could not have made Teresa change it; so what was the use of
discussin