water that tinkled back to the square of metal upon which the table
was set. A huge fan of blanched grasses automatically swayed from
above. On a side-table were decanters and cups and platters of a
material frail and transparent. Before the shuttered window stood an
observable plant with coloured leaves. On a great table in the
room's centre were scattered objects which confused the eye. A light
curtain stirring in the fan's faint breeze hung at the far end of
the room.

In a career which had held many surprises, some of which St. George
would never be at liberty to reveal to the paper in whose service he
had come upon them, this was one of the most alluring. The mere
existence of this strange and luxurious habitation in the heart of
such a neighbourhood would, past expression, delight Mr. Crass, the
feature man, and no doubt move even Chillingworth to approval.
Chillingworth and Crass! Already they seemed strangers. St. George
glanced at Miss Holland; she was looking from side to side, like a
bird alighted among strange flowers; she met his eyes and dimpled
in frank delight. Mrs. Hastings sat erectly beside her, her
tortoise-rimmed glasses expressing bland approval. The improbability
of her surroundings had quite escaped her in her satisfied discovery
that the place was habitable. The lawyer, his thin lips parted, his
head thrown back so that his hair rested upon his coat collar,
remained standing, one long hand upon a coat lapel.

"Ah," said Miss Holland softly, "it _is_ an adventure, Aunt Dora."

St. George liked that. It irritated him, he had once admitted, to
see a woman live as if living were a matter of life and death. He
wished her to be alive to everything, but without suspiciously