combat the forces of disorder
and disloyalty now rampant in the land."

"But," some listener would suggest, "I gathered from young Jocelyn that
Mrs. Clifton Courtenay held somewhat advanced views on social and
political questions."

"Jocelyn," the Colonel would reply with scorn; "pah! There may have been
a short space of time during which the fellow's long hair and windy
rhetoric impressed her. But I flatter myself I've put _my_ spoke in Mr.
Jocelyn's wheel. Why, damme, sir, she's consented to stand for Grand
Dame of the Bermondsey Branch of the Primrose League next year. What's
Jocelyn to say to that, the scoundrel!"

What Jocelyn said was:--

"I know the woman is weak. But I do not blame her; I pity her. When the
time comes, as soon it will, when woman is no longer a puppet, dancing to
the threads held by some brainless man--when a woman is not threatened
with social ostracism for daring to follow her own conscience instead of
that of her nearest male relative--then will be the time to judge her. It
is not for me to betray the confidence reposed in me by a suffering
woman, but you can tell that interesting old fossil, Colonel Maxim, that
he and the other old women of the Bermondsey Branch of the Primrose
League may elect Mrs. Clifton Courtenay for their President, and make the
most of it; they have only got the outside of the woman. Her heart is
beating time to the tramp of an onward-marching people; her soul's eyes
are straining for the glory of a coming dawn."

But they all agreed she was a charming woman.

WHIBLEY'S SPIRIT

I never met it myself, but I knew Whibley very well indeed, so that I
came to hear a goodish deal about it.

It appeared to be devoted to Whibley, and Whibley was extremely fond of
it. Personally I am not interested in spirits, and no spirit has ever
interested itself in me. But I have friends whom they patronise, and my
mind is quite open on the subject. Of Whibley's Spirit I wish to speak
with every possible respect. It was, I am willing to admit, as
hard-working and conscientious a spirit as any one could wish to live
with. The only thing I have to say against it is that it had no sense.

It came with a carved cabinet that Whibley had purchased in Wardour
Street for old oak, but which, as a matter of fact, was chestnut wood,
manufactured in Germany, and at first was harmless enough, saying nothing
but "Yes!" or "No!" and that only when spoken to.

Whibley wou