a long
tongue and lick her little pointed shoe. For Mrs. Pendyce had been a
pretty woman, and her feet were as small as ever.

Beside her on a spindley table stood a china bowl filled with dried
rose-leaves, whereon had been scattered an essence smelling like
sweetbriar, whose secret she had learned from her mother in the old
Warwickshire home of the Totteridges, long since sold to Mr. Abraham
Brightman. Mrs. Pendyce, born in the year 1840, loved sweet perfumes,
and was not ashamed of using them.

The Indian summer sun was soft and bright; and wistful, soft, and bright
were Mrs. Pendyce's eyes, fixed on the letter in her lap. She turned
it over and began to read again. A wrinkle visited her brow. It was not
often that a letter demanding decision or involving responsibility came
to her hands past the kind and just censorship of Horace Pendyce. Many
matters were under her control, but were not, so to speak, connected
with the outer world. Thus ran the letter:

"S.R.W.C., HANOVER SQUARE,

"November 1, 1891.

"DEAR MARGERY,

"I want to see you and talk something over, so I'm running down on
Sunday afternoon. There is a train of sorts. Any loft will do for me to
sleep in if your house is full, as it may be, I suppose, at this time of
year. On second thoughts I will tell you what I want to see you about.
You know, of course, that since her father died I am Helen Bellew's
only guardian. Her present position is one in which no woman should be
placed; I am convinced it ought to be put an end to. That man Bellew
deserves no consideration. I cannot write of him coolly, so I won't
write at all. It is two years now since they separated, entirely, as
I consider, through his fault. The law has placed her in a cruel and
helpless position all this time; but now, thank God, I believe we can
move for a divorce. You know me well enough to realise what I have gone
through before coming to this conclusion. Heaven knows if I could hit on
some other way in which her future could be safeguarded, I would take
it in preference to this, which is most repugnant; but I cannot. You
are the only woman I can rely on to be interested in her, and I must
see Bellew. Let not the fat and just Benson and his estimable horses be
disturbed on my account; I will walk up and carry my toothbrush.

"Affectionately your cousin,

"GREGORY VIGIL."

Mrs. Pendyce smiled. She saw no joke, but she knew from the wording
of the last sentence that Gregory s