has been of the greatest use to me in later life. Thanks to his
instructions, I am the only person in the house who can grapple
with the intricacies of our railway system. Your poor father, Mr.
Norman, could never understand time-tables and never attempted to
conceal his deficiencies. He had none of the vanity (harmless
vanity, perhaps) which led poor Mr. Presty to express positive
opinions on matters of which he knew nothing, such as pictures
and music. What do you want, Malcolm?"

The servant to whom this question was addressed answered: "A
telegram, ma'am, for the mistress."

Mrs. Linley recoiled from the message when the man offered it to
her. Not usually a very demonstrative person, the feeling of
alarm which had seized on her only expressed itself in a sudden
change of color. "An accident!" she said faintly. "An accident on
the railway!"

Mrs. Presty opened the telegram.

"If you had been the wife of a Cabinet Minister," she said to her
daughter, "you would have been too well used to telegrams to let
them frighten you. Mr. Presty (who received his telegrams at his
office) was not quite just to the memory of my first husband. He
used to blame Mr. Norman for letting me see his telegrams. But
Mr. Presty's nature had all the poetry in which Mr. Norman's
nature was deficient. He saw the angelic side of women--and
thought telegrams and business, and all that sort of thing,
unworthy of our mission. I don't exactly understand what our
mission is--"