more multitudinous."

"They must be," said Yeovil, fingering his three shilling State document;
"by the way," he asked, "are all the grass plots in the Park out of
bounds for human feet?"

"Everywhere where you see the notices," said the policeman, "and that's
about three-fourths of the whole grass space; there's been a lot of new
gravel walks opened up in all directions. People don't want to walk on
the grass when they've got clean paths to walk on."

And with this parting reproof the bi-lingual constable strode heavily
away, his loss of consideration and self-esteem as a unit of a sometime
ruling race evidently compensated for to some extent by his enhanced
importance as an official.

"The women and children," thought Yeovil, as he looked after the
retreating figure; "yes, that is one side of the problem. The children
that have to be fed and schooled, the women folk that have to be cared
for, an old mother, perhaps, in the home that cannot be broken up. The
old case of giving hostages."

He followed the path alongside the Serpentine, passing under the archway
of the bridge and continuing his walk into Kensington Gardens. In
another moment he was within view of the Peter Pan statue and at once
observed that it had companions. On one side was a group representing a
scene from one of the Grimm fairy stories, on the other was Alice in
conversation with Gryphon and Mockturtle, the episode looking
distressingly stiff and meaningless in its sculptured form. Two other
spaces had been cleared in the neighbouring turf, evidently for the