fate according to its question. She could say
"haberdashery shop," and her sphinx would recognize this answer as
true to nature, and would be satisfied. But every individual has his
own, or her own fate, and her own sphinx. Alvina's sphinx was an
old, deep thoroughbred, she would take no mongrel answers. And her
thoroughbred teeth were long and sharp. To Alvina, the last of the
fantastic but pure-bred race of Houghton, the problem of her fate
was terribly abstruse.

The only thing to do was not to solve it: to stray on, and answer
fate with whatever came into one's head. No good striving with fate.
Trust to a lucky shot, or take the consequences.

"Miss Pinnegar," said Alvina. "Have we any money in hand?"

"There is about twenty pounds in the bank. It's all shown in my
books," said Miss Pinnegar.

"We couldn't take it, could we?"

"Every penny shows in the books."

Alvina pondered again.

"Are there more bills to come in?" she asked. "I mean my bills. Do I
owe anything?"

"I don't think you do," said Miss Pinnegar.

"I'm going to keep the insurance money, any way. They can say what
they like. I've got it, and I'm going to keep it."

"Well," said Miss Pinnegar, "it's not my business. But there's
Sharps and Fullbanks to pay."

"I'll pay those," said Alvina. "You tell Atterwell what to put on
father's stone. How much does it cost?"

"Five shillings a letter, you remember."

"Well, we'll just put the name and the date. How much will that be?
James Houghton. Born 17th January--"

"You'll have to put 'Also of,'" said Miss Pinnegar.

"Also of--" said Alvina. "One--two--three--four--five--six--. Six
letters--thirty shillings. Seems an awful lot for _Also of_--"

"But you can't leave it out," said Miss Pinnegar. "You can't
economize over that."

"I begrudge it," said Alvina.

CHAPTER XI

HONOURABLE ENGAGEMENT

For days, after joining the Natcha-Kee-Tawaras, Alvina was very
quiet, subdued, and rather remote, sensible of her humiliating
position as a hanger-on. They none of them took much notice of her.
They drifted on, rather disjointedly. The cordiality, the _joie de
vivre_ did not revive. Madame was a little irritable, and very
exacting, and inclined to be spiteful. Ciccio went his way with
Geoffrey.

In the second week, Madame found out that a man had been
surreptitiously inquiring about them at their lodgings, from the
landlady and the landlady's blowsy daughter. It must have been a
dete