eipt, and the name and address on it were:
"Miss Hazeline Snow, The Bindles, Pymley, Gloucestershire."

Lady Arabel smiled in a relieved way. She had not long been a social
worker, and had not yet acquired a taste for making fools of the
undeserving. "So this is your name and address," she said.

"No," said the Stranger simply.

"This is your name and address," said Lady Arabel more loudly.

"No," said the Stranger. "I made it up. Don't you think 'The Bindles,
Pymley,' is too darling?"

"Quite drunk," repeated Miss Ford. She had attended eight committee
meetings that week.

"S--s--s--sh, Meta," hissed Lady Arabel. She leaned forward, not
smiling, but pleasantly showing her teeth. "You gave a false name and
address. My dear, I wonder if I can guess why."

"I dare say you can," admitted the Stranger. "It's such fun, don't you
think, to get no thanks? Don't you sometimes amuse yourself by sending
postal orders to people whose addresses look pathetic in the telephone
book, or by forgetting to take away the parcels you have bought in poor
little shops? Or by standing and looking with ostentatious respect at
boy scouts on the march, always bearing in mind that these, in their own
eyes, are not little boys trotting behind a disguised curate, but
British Troops on the Move? Just two pleased eyes in a crowd, just a
hundred pounds dropped from heaven into poor Mr. Bonar Law's wistful
hand...."

Miss Ford began to laugh, a ladylike yet nasty laugh. "You amuse me,"
she said, but not in the kind of way that would make anybody wish to
amuse her often.

Miss Ford was the ideal member of committee, and a committee, of course,
exists for the purpose of damping enthusiasms.

The Stranger's manners were somehow hectic. Directly she heard that
laughter the tears came into her eyes. "Didn't you like what I was
saying?" she asked. Tears climbed down her cheekbones.

"Oh!" said Miss Ford. "You seem to be--if not drunk--suffering from some
form of hysteria."

"Do you think youth is a form of hysteria?" asked the Stranger. "Or
hunger? Or magic? Or--"

"Oh, don't recite any more lists, for the Dear Sake!" implored Miss
Ford, who had caught this rather pretty expression where she caught her
laugh and most of her thoughts--from contemporary fiction. She had a lot
of friends in the writing trade. She knew artists too, and an actress,
and a lot of people who talked. She very nearly did something clever
herself. She continued: "I wis