ame. Miss Pinnegar was frightfully affronted. The
meal, with the three women at table, passed painfully.

Miss Pinnegar rose to go upstairs and weep. She felt very forlorn.
Alvina rose to wipe the dishes, hastily, because the funeral guests
would all be coming. Madame went into the drawing-room to smoke her
sly cigarette.

Mr. May was the first to turn up for the lugubrious affair: very
tight and tailored, but a little extinguished, all in black. He
never wore black, and was very unhappy in it, being almost morbidly
sensitive to the impression the colour made on him. He was set to
entertain Madame.

She did not pretend distress, but sat black-eyed and watchful, very
much her business self.

"What about the theatre?--will it go on?" she asked.

"Well I don't know. I don't know Miss Houghton's intentions," said
Mr. May. He was a little stilted today.

"It's hers?" said Madame.

"Why, as far as I understand--"

"And if she wants to sell out--?"

Mr. May spread his hands, and looked dismal, but distant.

"You should form a company, and carry on--" said Madame.

Mr. May looked even more distant, drawing himself up in an odd
fashion, so that he looked as if he were trussed. But Madame's
shrewd black eyes and busy mind did not let him off.

"Buy Miss Houghton out--" said Madame shrewdly.

"Of cauce," said Mr. May. "Miss Houghton herself must decide."

"Oh sure--! You--are you married?"

"Yes."

"Your wife here?"

"My wife is in London."

"And children--?"

"A daughter."

Madame slowly nodded her head up and down, as if she put thousands
of two-and-two's together.

"You think there will be much to come to Miss Houghton?" she said.

"Do you mean property? I really can't say. I haven't enquired."

"No, but you have a good idea, eh?"

"I'm afraid I haven't.

"No! Well! It won't be much, then?"

"Really, I don't know. I should say, not a _large_ fortune--!"

"No--eh?" Madame kept him fixed with her black eyes. "Do you think
the other one will get anything?"

"The _other one_--?" queried Mr. May, with an uprising cadence.
Madame nodded slightly towards the kitchen.

"The old one--the Miss--Miss Pin--Pinny--what you call her."

"Miss Pinnegar! The manageress of the work-girls? Really, I don't
know at all--" Mr. May was most freezing.

"Ha--ha! Ha--ha!" mused Madame quietly. Then she asked: "Which
work-girls do you say?"

And she listened astutely to Mr. May's forced account of the
work-roo