o be remarked that a good many people are born curiously
unfitted for the fate awaiting them on this earth. As I don't want you
to think that I am unduly partial to the girl we shall say that she
failed decidedly to endear herself to that simple, virtuous and, I
believe, teetotal household. It's my conviction that an angel would have
failed likewise. It's no use going into details; suffice it to state
that before the year was out she was again at the Fynes' door.

This time she was escorted by a stout youth. His large pale face wore a
smile of inane cunning soured by annoyance. His clothes were new and the
indescribable smartness of their cut, a _genre_ which had never been
obtruded on her notice before, astonished Mrs. Fyne, who came out into
the hall with her hat on; for she was about to go out to hear a new
pianist (a girl) in a friend's house. The youth addressing Mrs. Fyne
easily begged her not to let "that silly thing go back to us any more."
There had been, he said, nothing but "ructions" at home about her for the
last three weeks. Everybody in the family was heartily sick of
quarrelling. His governor had charged him to bring her to this address
and say that the lady and gentleman were quite welcome to all there was
in it. She hadn't enough sense to appreciate a plain, honest English
home and she was better out of it.

The young, pimply-faced fellow was vexed by this job his governor had
sprung on him. It was the cause of his missing an appointment for that
afternoon with a certain young lady. The lady he was engaged to. But he
meant to dash back and try for a sight of her that evening yet "if he
were to burst over it." "Good-bye, Florrie. Good luck to you--and I
hope I'll never see your face again."

With that he ran out in lover-like haste leaving the hall-door wide open.
Mrs. Fyne had not found a word to say. She had been too much taken aback
even to gasp freely. But she had the presence of mind to grab the girl's
arm just as she, too, was running out into the street--with the haste, I
suppose, of despair and to keep I don't know what tragic tryst.

"You stopped her with your own hand, Mrs. Fyne," I said. "I presume she
meant to get away. That girl is no comedian--if I am any judge."

"Yes! I had to use some force to drag her in."

Mrs. Fyne had no difficulty in stating the truth. "You see I was in the
very act of letting myself out when these two appeared. So that, when
that unpleasa