aintance through the medium of a matrimonial
agency; and indirectly, when one does that sort of thing, one takes
one's chance. Your position is an extremely delicate one; but it is not
too much to say that you brought it on yourself. In my work, I have
encountered many sad instances of the result of lax moral principles;
but I little thought to encounter the saddest of all in my own family.
The discovery is just as great a blow to us as it is to you. We have
suffered; my mother has suffered. And now, I fear, it is your turn to
suffer. You are not this man's wife. Nothing can make you his wife. You
are living in the same house with him--under circumstances--er--without
a chaperon. I hesitate to characterize your situation in plain words. It
would scarcely become me, or mine, to do so. But really no lady could
possibly find herself in a situation more false than--I am afraid there
is only one word, open immorality, and--er--to put yourself right with
society there is one thing, and only one, left for you to--er--do. I--I
speak for the family, and I--"

"Sugar?" Alice questioned the mother of curates.

"Yes, please."

"One lump, or two?"

"Two, please."

"Speaking for the family--" Henry resumed.

"Will you kindly pass this cup to your mother?" Alice suggested.

Henry was obliged to take the cup. Excited by the fever of eloquence, he
unfortunately upset it before it had reached his mother's hands.

"Oh, Henry!" murmured the lady, mournfully aghast. "You always were so
clumsy! And a clean cloth, too!"

"Don't mention it, please," said Alice, and then to _her_ Henry: "My
dear, just run into the kitchen, and bring me something to wipe this up.
Hanging behind the door--you'll see."

Priam sprang forward with astonishing celerity. And the occasion
brooking no delay, the guardian of the portal could not but let him
pass. In another moment the front door banged. Priam did not return. And
Alice staunched the flow of tea with a clean, stiff serviette taken from
the sideboard drawer.

_A Departure_

The family of the late Henry Leek, each with a cup in hand, experienced
a certain difficulty in maintaining the interview at the pitch set by
Matthew and Henry. Mrs. Leek, their mother, frankly gave way to soft
tears, while eating bread-and-butter, jam and zebra-like toast. John
took everything that Alice offered to him in gloomy and awkward silence.

"Does he mean to come back?" Matthew demanded at length. He had ris