* * * * *

“Very amusing,” said Miss Ford, after waiting a minute to see if there was any more of the prospectus.  She had quite recovered herself, and was wearing the brisk acute expression that deceived her into claiming a sense of humour.  “But why all those uncomfortable rules?  And why that discouragement of social intercourse?  I am afraid the average person of the class you cater for does not recognise the duty of social intercourse.”

“This house,” replied the witch, “caters for people who are outside averages.  The ferryman says that people who are content to be average are lowering the general standard.  I wish you could have met Peony, the only guest up to now, but she is out, and may be a teeny bit drunk when she comes in.  She has gone to draw her money.”

“What sort of money?” asked Miss Ford, who was always interested in the sources of income of the Poor.

“Soldier’s allotment.  Unmarried wife.”

The expression of Miss Ford’s face tactfully wiped away this bald unfortunate statement from the surface of the conversation.  “And how do you make your boarding-house pay,” she asked, “if there is no charge for residence?”

“How d’you mean—­pay?” asked the witch.  “Pay whom?  And what with?  Look here, if you will come and live here you shall have a little Wednesday every week on the stairs, under license from me.  Harold the Broomstick is apt to shirk cleaning the stairs, but as it happens, he is keeping company with an O-Cedar Mop in Kentish Town, and I’ve no doubt she would come over and do the stairs thoroughly every Tuesday night.  Besides, we have overalls in stock at only two and eleven three——­”

“Oh, I like your merry mood,” said Miss Ford, laughing heartily.  “You must remember to talk like that when you come to my Wednesdays.  Most of my friends are utter Socialists, and believe in bridging as far as possible the gulf between one class and another, so you needn’t feel shy or awkward.”

The splashing of the ferry-boat was once more heard, and then the shop quaked a little as a heavy foot alighted on the landing-stage.  The ferryman was heard saying:  “I don’t know any party of that name, but I believe the young woman at the shop can help you.”

Lady Arabel Higgins entered the shop.

“What, Meta, you here?  And Sarah Brown?  What a too dretfully funny coincidence.  Well, Angela dear, I made a note of your address yesterday, and then lost the note—­too dretfully like me.  So I rang up the Mayor, and he said he also had made a note, and he would come and show me the way.  But I didn’t wait for him.  I wanted to talk to you about——­”

“Well, I must truly be going,” interrupted Sarah Brown.  “I’ll just nip across to the Brown Borough and find a pawn-shop, being hungry.”

“There is no need for any one to move on my account,” said Lady Arabel.  “You all heard what Angela said last night in her little address to the committee in the dark.  I don’t know why she addressed her remarks particularly at me, but as she did so, there is no secret in the matter.  Of course, just at first, it seemed dretful to me that any one should know or speak about it.  I cannot understand how you knew, Angela; I am trying not to understand....”