aning their
under-chant. And then, in the morning, when the first rough sketch was
written, the glory faded. He threw down his pen, and called himself an
ass for wasting his time on what nobody would ever look at. Then he
laid his head on the table, overwrought, full of an infinite pity for
himself. A sudden longing seized him for some one to love him, to
caress his hair, to smooth his hot forehead. This mood passed too; he
smoothed the slumbering Beethoven instead. After a while he went into
his bedroom, and sluiced his face and hands in ice-cold water, and rang
the bell for breakfast.

There was a knock at the door in response.

"Come in!" he said gently--his emotions had left him tired to the point
of tenderness. And then he waited a minute while Mary Ann was drawing
on her gloves.

"Did you ring, sir?" said a wheezy voice at last. Mrs. Leadbatter had
got tired of waiting.

Lancelot started violently--Mrs. Leadbatter had latterly left him
entirely to Mary Ann. "It's my hastmer," she had explained to him
apologetically, meeting him casually in the passage. "I can't trollop
up and down stairs as I used to when I fust took this house
five-an'-twenty year ago, and pore Mr. Leadbatter----" and here
followed reminiscences long since in their hundredth edition.

"Yes; let me have some coffee--very hot--please," said Lancelot less
gently. The woman's voice jarred upon him; and her features were not
redeeming.

"Lawd, sir, I 'ope that gas 'asn't been burnin' all night, sir," she
said as she was going out.

"It has," he said shortly.

"You'll hexcoose me, sir, but I didn't bargen for that. I'm only a
pore, honest, 'ard-workin' widder, and I noticed the last gas bill was
'eavier than hever since that black winter that took pore Mr.
Leadbatter to 'is grave. Fair is fair, and I shall 'ave to reckon it a
hextry, with the rate gone up sevenpence a thousand, and my Rosie
leavin' a fine nursemaid's place in Bayswater at the end of the month
to come 'ome and 'elp 'er mother, 'cos my hastmer----"

"Will you please shut the door after you?" interrupted Lancelot, biting
his lip with irritation. And Mrs. Leadbatter, who was standing in the
aperture with no immediate intention of departing, could find no
repartee beyond slamming the door as hard as she could.

This little passage of arms strangely softened Lancelot to Mary Ann.
It made him realise faintly what her life must be.

"I should go mad and smash all t