al at large. Women had whispered tales which she
found impossible to credit; the world was so censorious! But on the
theory that there was never any smoke without fire, she decided that
Mrs. Fox was unscrupulous, and deplored the fact that the Station was
obliged to put up with her. Apparently, so long as a husband
countenanced his wife, no one else had any right to object to whatever
she might do! It was a strange world!

The trend of her thoughts reminded her of the doctor's estimate of
herself, which he had subsequently withdrawn. But then, he could only
have been teasing, for Joyce knew herself, and flirting was very far
from her intentions at any time, or under any circumstance. For
instance, she was very sure she would never allow any man but her
husband to kiss her!--the bare idea was appalling!

After the tennis hour at the Club, Honor Bright cycled up to the steps
of the Bara Koti, and ran in to embrace Mrs. Meredith and welcome her
home. "I am sorry not to have been able to come earlier, there was so
much to do, and a tennis match in the afternoons," she said in her full,
deep voice which Joyce thought so musical. Yet she never sang. God had
given her a larynx, but the wicked fairies had robbed her of ear, so,
though she loved music passionately, she could never produce a tune. "I
must be fit only for 'treasons, stratagems, and spoils,'" she was once
heard to say, "for it seems I was not born musical."

However, it was pointed out to her that she was not just to herself; she
had plenty of "music in her soul" to satisfy even Shakespeare; it was
only her inability to use the divine instrument in her throat. "You put
me in mind of 'Trilby.' Perhaps you will sing if you are hypnotised!"
Joyce had told her.

"Captain Dalton mentioned that you and Baby had both been ill. However I
am glad to see _you_ so well. How is Squawk?"

"How can you call him such a horrid name!" said Joyce reproachfully.

Honor laughed heartily. "Tommy is responsible; you must scold him."

"I shall, indeed. He's a bad boy!"

"Not at all!--he's a Deare!" at which they both laughed, for Mr.
Bright's assistant, like the Assistant Magistrate, had a name of
infinite possibilities. A comic fate had thrown him and Jack Darling
together in the same Station, and they were provocative of fun in more
senses than the coincidence of their names afforded.

The guest was carried off to see the son-and-heir in his crib and admire
his indefinite fea