'
owin' me arf-a-crown, too. I was cut up at the time, but I know now 'e
wasn't my Fate, 'avin been told since that I'm goin' to marry a man
wot'll work with 'is brain. So cheer up, Miss Marryun, and come an'
'ave this nice glarss o' stout I've brought in for you.' She unscrewed
the bottle as she spoke. 'I always find that when things are at their
worst, an' you're feelin' real pipped like, a glarss o' stout acts like
magic. Yes, it's the right stuff, is stout.'

The situation was distinctly ludicrous. Yet neither Marion nor I
laughed. We watched Elizabeth solemnly pouring out the stout, after
which she handed it to Marion, who, though she 'never touches' anything
alcoholic as a rule, took it and drank it off 'like a lamb,' as
Elizabeth expressed it.

There was a pause. Then the corners of Marion's mouth ceased to droop.
She smiled. I smiled. Elizabeth smiled.

There was another pause. 'I think, Elizabeth,' I remarked, 'I'll have
a glass--just a small glass--of stout myself.'

'You do right, 'm. I'll fetch you a glass.'

'And Elizabeth, if you'd care to have some----'

'Thank you very much 'm, I _did_ take the liberty of 'avin' a taste
already, but a little drop more wouldn't do me any 'arm, as the sayin'
is.'

She went out. Marion set down her glass and put away her
pocket-handkerchief. 'How silly of me to worry about Mr. Harbinger,'
she said. 'After all, I suppose Fate never intended us for each other.'

I recognized in a flash that Elizabeth had succeeded where I had
failed, and I was conscious of a certain admiration for her methods.
Yet at that moment no hint of subsequent events filtered into my mind;
I did not suspect--even dimly--the possibilities of Elizabeth.

CHAPTER VI

Neither Elizabeth or Marion like William. Of the two, Elizabeth is
more tolerant towards him, merely commenting that 'she couldn't abide
his ways.' Marion, however, views him with an antipathy entirely
foreign to one of her gentle nature. I think, in the light of what
happened later, if she had only shown a little more forbearance towards
him it might have simplified matters.

William is our friend. He drops in to see us when he likes, sits with
his feet on our mantelpiece, strews tobacco ash on the carpet, and
always tells me which of my hats are the most unbecoming, so you can
imagine what a close friend he is. Though he does not stick any closer
than a brother, he is equally as frank. He likes Henry