al, and perhaps to have his wife and children
penniless on our hands."

Somehow, that night Henry Marlow's temper was not quite under control,
and his voice was distinctly sharp as he retorted, "Miss Farlow has
money of her own, at least two hundred a year, settled on her, so they
wouldn't starve. What is it you propose to do?"

"Tell Canon Farlow the truth, of course," Ida answered with asperity;
"then he can judge for himself. It will relieve us of responsibility in
the matter. It is the only thing we can do."

Marlow frowned. "It's not my idea of what is right. You know Jimmy left
this girl long ago. Why can't you forget it, and give him a chance to
start again?" He addressed himself almost pointedly to his wife; but May
shook her head.

"One can't forget in that way, Henry," she replied, gently; "at least
not in this case. It wouldn't be fair to Vera, knowing what we do about
Jimmy's instincts. No; Ida is right. We must certainly tell Canon
Farlow."

"But he's left the girl," Henry persisted; he had always liked Jimmy,
even if he had never understood him or been greatly interested in him;
moreover, the whole idea of writing to the prospective father-in-law was
repugnant to his ideas of fairness.

"How do you know he has really left her?" Ida asked coldly. "He has
deceived us before and may be deceiving us again. The only address he
has given us is his club, and this letter from Ethel is the first
intimation we have had as to where he was living. She may be there,
too."

Mr. Marlow laughed scornfully. "And under Ethel Grimmer's eyes? Hardly,
Ida. And, according to the character you give her, she is not likely to
allow him to get engaged to someone else. When did you hear of her
last?"

"Never, after she fled that night." It was May who answered. "I wish we
had been able to follow her up."

"Why?" Henry demanded. "I think you got pretty well revenged as it was."

Ida picked up her needlework again, rather ostentatiously. She had never
seen her brother-in-law in this combative mood before, and it made her a
little uneasy; but she was not going to let him see that fact, so she
answered even more coldly than before:

"There was no question of revenge, Henry. Really, the suggestion is a
little coarse, if May will forgive my saying so. Why we wished to find
her was for this reason. Gilbert"--she coloured rather becomingly as she
pronounced the name--Gilbert was Mr. Fugnell, Ethel's "Additional
Curate," to wh