She walked home in a thoughtful mood, and for a day or two went about the house with an air of preoccupation which was a source of much speculation to the family.  George Vickers, aged six, was driven to the verge of madness by being washed.  Three times in succession one morning; a gag of well-soaped flannel being applied with mechanical regularity each time that he strove to point out the unwashed condition of Martha and Charles.  His turn came when the exultant couple, charged with having made themselves dirty in the shortest time on record, were deprived of their breakfast.  Mr. Vickers, having committed one or two minor misdemeanours unchallenged, attributed his daughter’s condition to love, and began to speak of that passion with more indulgence than he had done since his marriage.

Miss Vickers’s’ abstraction, however, lasted but three days.  On the fourth she was herself again, and, having spent the day in hard work, dressed herself with unusual care in the evening and went out.

The evening was fine and the air, to one who had been at work indoors all day, delightful.  Miss Vickers walked briskly along with the smile of a person who has solved a difficult problem, but as she drew near the Horse and Groom, a hostelry of retiring habits, standing well back from the road, the smile faded and she stood face to face with the stern realities of life.

[Illustration:  “She stood face to face with the stern realities of life.”]

A few yards from the side-door Mr. Vickers stood smoking a contemplative pipe; the side-door itself had just closed behind a tall man in corduroys, who bore in his right hand a large mug made of pewter.

“Ho!” said Selina,” so this is how you go on the moment my back is turned, is it?”

“What d’ye mean?” demanded Mr. Vickers, blustering.

“You know what I mean,” said his daughter, “standing outside and sending Bill Russell in to get you beer.  That’s what I mean.”

Mr. Vickers turned, and with a little dramatic start intimated that he had caught sight of Mr. Russell for the first time that evening.  Mr. Russell himself sought to improve the occasion.

“Wish I may die—­” he began, solemnly.

“Like a policeman,” continued Selina, regarding her father indignantly.

“I wish I was a policeman,” muttered Mr. Vickers.  “I’d show some of you.”

“What have you got to say for yourself?” demanded Miss Vickers, shortly.

“Nothing,” said the culprit.  “I s’pose I can stand where I like?  There’s no law agin it.”

“Do you mean to say that you didn’t send Bill in to get you some beer?” said his daughter.

“Certainly not,” said Mr. Vickers, with great indignation.  “I shouldn’t think of such a thing.”

“I shouldn’t get it if ’e did,” said Mr. Russell, virtuously.

“Whose beer is it, then?” said Selina.

“Why, Bill’s, I s’pose; how should I know?” replied Mr. Vickers.