later, when she sat alone in her own room, where, fortunately for
himself, Grindley junior was not, did the whole force and meaning
of the thing come home to her. It was a large room, taking up half
of the top story of the big Georgian house in Nevill's Court; but
even as it was, Miss Appleyard felt cramped.

"For a year--for nearly a whole year," said Miss Appleyard,
addressing the bust of William Shakespeare, "have I been slaving my
life out, teaching him elementary Latin and the first five books of
Euclid!"

As it has been remarked, it was fortunate for Grindley junior he
was out of reach. The bust of William Shakespeare maintained its
irritating aspect of benign philosophy.

"I suppose I should," mused Miss Appleyard, "if he had told me at
first--as he ought to have told me--of course I should naturally
have had nothing more to do with him. I suppose," mused Miss
Appleyard, "a man in love, if he is really in love, doesn't quite
know what he's doing. I suppose one ought to make allowances.
But, oh! when I think of it--"

And then Grindley junior's guardian angel must surely have slipped
into the room, for Miss Appleyard, irritated beyond endurance at
the philosophical indifference of the bust of William Shakespeare,
turned away from it, and as she did so, caught sight of herself in
the looking-glass. Miss Appleyard approached the glass a little
nearer. A woman's hair is never quite as it should be. Miss
Appleyard, standing before the glass, began, she knew not why, to
find reasons excusing Grindley junior. After all, was not