an impudent old
scoundrel--told me she didn't want any grey-haired married men after
her girls."

"I don't believe it! I can't! She meant somebody else. Don't you
feel sure she must have meant her remark for some other passer-by, Mrs.
Bradford?" said Mrs. Graham, much agitated by his annoyance.

Mrs. Bradford eyed Mr. Graham with stolid thoroughness. "I think she
must. He doesn't look at all like that. But my husband used to say
that the sedate middle-aged-looking ones were often the worst, so
perhaps she may have thought the same."

"If she did, she was an idiot," said Mrs. Graham; then abruptly changed
the subject. "Oh, there's Godfrey Wilson! I suppose he often comes
through here on his way to his rooms."

"Yes, that's it. No fear of his wanting to dance with the girls on the
promenade nowadays," answered Mr. Graham, beginning to recover himself
by degrees. "Well, Lizzie, I think we've had enough of this, don't
you? Shall we go in and have a bit of supper? Then I will see Mrs.
Bradford and Miss Ethel home."

But as they walked away, he could not refrain from casting a backward
glance at the decent woman struggling with her unruly air-balloons, and
a sense of disappointed _joie de vivre_ came over him once more. "I
wish to goodness the whole bag o' tricks would blow away into the sea,"
he said. "I'd willingly pay the piper. I'm sick to death of seeing
the things bob up and down in the wind."

"Are you?" said Miss Ethel in her sharp way. "Then why don't you buy
them all up and send them to the children at the Convalescent Home that
Laura is so interested in?"

"Now that's an idea," said Mr. Graham at once. For the feeling that it
was his duty to give to a charitable institution when he could, had
been handed down to him--it was a part of life, no less natural than
having his hair cut or going to the dentist's. Out in the new, changed
world this instinctive generosity might already be taking
flight--scared away, as the fairies had been by steam traffic--but in
Thorhaven it still remained.

So he went back to the woman selling air-balloons with restored
self-satisfaction, and stood there in the high wind, diving into his
pockets for the amount required. The air balloons blew about--purple,
pink and white--all looking almost equally colourless by the faint
light as they bobbed about the woman's head, impeding her view of the
purchaser. A few moments later she was making her way home, thankful