ness.

"Such ridiculous goings-on and ways of speaking!" she muttered. "Well,
if you've anything to say to me you'll have to wait a bit, that's all.
I've got some clothes I can't leave all in a scurry like this. I'll
send Alf in to keep you company."

Burton sighed but accepted his fate. For a few moments he sat upon the
sofa and gazed around at the hopeless little room. Then, in due course,
the door was pushed open and Alfred appeared, his hair shiny, his cheeks
redolent of recent ablutions, more than a trifle reluctant. His
conversation was limited to a few monosyllables and a whoop of joy at
the receipt of a shilling. His efforts at escape afterwards were so
pitiful that Burton eventually let him out of the window, from which he
disappeared, running at full tilt towards a confectioner's shop.

Presently Ellen returned. It was exceedingly manifest that her
temporary absence had not been wholly due to the exigencies of her
domestic occupation. Her skirt was unpinned, a mauve bow adorned her
throat, a scarf of some gauzy material, also mauve, floated around her
neck. She was wearing a hat with a wing, which he was guiltily
conscious of having once admired, and which she attempted, in an airy
but exceedingly unconvincing fashion, to explain.

"Got to go up the street directly," she said, jerkily. "What is it?"

Burton had made up his mind that the fewer words he employed, the
better.

"Ellen," he began, "you have perhaps noticed a certain change in me
during the last few weeks?"

Ellen's bosom began to heave and her eyes to flash. Burton hastened on.

"You will find it hard to believe how it all occurred," he continued.
"I want you to, though, if you can. There have been many instances of
diet influencing morals, but none quite--"

"Diet doing what?" Ellen broke in. "What's that?" Burton came very
straight to the point.

"This change in me," he explained simply, "is merely because I have
taken something which makes it impossible for me to say or see anything
but the absolute truth. I could not tell you a falsehood if I tried.
Wherever I look, or whenever I listen, I can always see or hear truth.
I know nothing about music, yet since this thing happened it has been a
wonderful joy to me. I can tell a false note in a second, I can tell
true music from false. I know nothing about art, yet I can suddenly
feel it and all its marvels. You can understand a little, perhaps, what
this means? A whole new world, full of