ething.

And when we reached the Casino, of course Mrs. Raddick wasn't there.
There wasn't a sign of her on the steps--not a sign.

"Will you stay in the car while I go and look?"

But no--she wouldn't do that. Good heavens, no! Hennie could stay. She
couldn't bear sitting in a car. She'd wait on the steps.

"But I scarcely like to leave you," I murmured. "I'd very much rather
not leave you here."

At that she threw back her coat; she turned and faced me; her lips
parted. "Good heavens--why! I--I don't mind it a bit. I--I like
waiting." And suddenly her cheeks crimsoned, her eyes grew dark--for
a moment I thought she was going to cry. "L--let me, please," she
stammered, in a warm, eager voice. "I like it. I love waiting!
Really--really I do! I'm always waiting--in all kinds of places... "

Her dark coat fell open, and her white throat--all her soft young body
in the blue dress--was like a flower that is just emerging from its dark
bud.

6. LIFE OF MA PARKER.

When the literary gentleman, whose flat old Ma Parker cleaned every
Tuesday, opened the door to her that morning, he asked after her
grandson. Ma Parker stood on the doormat inside the dark little hall,
and she stretched out her hand to help her gentleman shut the door
before she replied. "We buried 'im yesterday, sir," she said quietly.

"Oh, dear me! I'm sorry to hear that," said the literary gentleman in
a shocked tone. He was in the middle of his breakfast. He wore a very
shabby dressing-gown and carried a crumpled newspaper in one hand.
But he felt awkward. He could hardly go back to the warm sitting-room
without saying something--something more. Then because these people set
such store by funerals he said kindly, "I hope the funeral went off all
right."

"Beg parding, sir?" said old Ma Parker huskily.

Poor old bird! She did look dashed. "I hope the funeral was
a--a--success," said he. Ma Parker gave no answer. She bent her head
and hobbled off to the kitchen, clasping the old fish bag that held
her cleaning things and an apron and a pair of felt shoes. The literary
gentleman raised his eyebrows and went back to his breakfast.

"Overcome, I suppose," he said aloud, helping himself to the marmalade.

Ma Parker drew the two jetty spears out of her toque and hung it behind
the door. She unhooked her worn jacket and hung that up too. Then she
tied her apron and sat down to take off her boots. To take off her boots
or to put them on was an ag