less fuss than most people devote to the
running of a small sweet-stuff shop. I smiled and returned to the
others. Jaffery was again filling his huge pipe.

"I'm awfully sorry, old man," he said gloomily.

Adrian burst out laughing "But she's immense, your widow! The most
refreshing thing I've seen for many a day. The way she clears the place
of the cobwebs of convention! She's great. Isn't she, Doria?"

"I can quite understand Mr. Chayne finding her an uncomfortable charge."

"Thank you," said Jaffery, with rather unnecessary vehemence. "I knew
you would be sympathetic." He dropped into a chair by her side. "You
can't tell what an awful thing it is to be responsible for another human
being."

"Heaps of people manage to get through with it--every husband and
wife--every mother and father."

"Yes; but not many poor chaps who are neither father nor husband are
responsible for another fellow's grown-up widow."

Doria smiled. "You must find her another husband."

"That's a great idea. Will you help me? Before I knew of Adrian's great
good fortune, I wrote to Hilary--ho! ho! ho! But we must find somebody
else."

"Has she any money?" asked Doria, who smiled but faintly at the jocular
notion of a Liosha-bound Adrian.

"Prescott left her about a thousand a year. He was pretty well off, for
a war-correspondent."

"I don't think she'll have much difficulty. Do you know," she added,
after a moment or two of reflection, "if I were you, I would establish
her in a really first-class boarding-house."

"Would that be a good way?" Jaffery asked simply.

She nodded. "The best. She seems to have fallen foul of your sister."

"The dearest old soul that ever lived," said Jaffery.

"That's why. I'm sure I know your sister perfectly. The daughter of an
Albanian patriot who used to kill pigs in Chicago--why, what can your
poor sister do with her? Your sister is much older than you, isn't she?"

"Ten years. How did you guess?"

Doria smiled with feminine wisdom. "She's the gentlest maiden lady that
ever was. It's only a man that could have thought of saddling her with
our friend. Well--that's impossible. She would be the death of your
sister in a week. You can't look after her yourself--that wouldn't be
proper."

"And it would be the death of me too!" said Jaffery.

"You can't leave her in lodgings or a flat by herself, for the poor
woman would die of boredom. The only thing that remains is the
boarding-house."

Jaffer