condition
much older and more pathetically forlorn than the temple-tombs under
the Theban hills, attracted the aged and the melancholy.

Margaret was the only lady who ever patronized the bench-seats in this
secluded city oasis. Her V.A.D. uniform, and perhaps her air of
unconscious dignity, defended her from any unpleasantness. She had
never met with disrespect or lack of courtesy.

One of her chosen companions, an elderly, haggard woman, with a keen
sense of humour and traces of lost beauty, who always brought a bundle
of old rags and clothes to pick down, had made friends with her almost
immediately. She proved a source of great amusement to Margaret. The
woman's occupation had caused her much speculation.

She soon discovered, for the woman was not at all reticent, that she
had been a low comedian and a dancer at Drury Lane Theatre, and like
most comedians, high tragedy was her passion, and had been her ambition.

Margaret's off-hours flew on wings while she listened to the woman's
accounts of her dramatic experiences. She had seen her days of
prosperity and undoubtedly enjoyed much admiration. She was no
grumbler and still retained an appetite for life. The sparrows and the
fat pigeons which waited for the crumbs which fell from the pockets of
the clothes she unpicked were her friends; her dreams of the past were
her recreations.

When Margaret discovered that her desire for theatre-going was still
unabated and unsatisfied, and that she considered that there was no
pleasure on earth which wealth could bring her to be compared to the
excitement of a "first night," as viewed from the gallery, she
determined to give her a treat. She had not been to the theatre for
many years; the necessary shilling for the gallery was never
forthcoming; picking down old uniforms was not a lucrative occupation.

Margaret contrived to put the necessary shilling in her way by leaving
it lying on the seat when she got up.

When she appeared in the garden-square the next day, the aged comedian
told her about her "find," and asked her anxiously if she had lost a
shilling. Margaret lied nobly; yet her lie was only half a lie, for
she certainly had not lost it. She had vividly realized the finding of
it.

Margaret never laid out a shilling to better account. It was returned
to her fourfold as she listened to the glowing descriptions and the
good criticisms of the first performance of one of the most popular
war-plays whic