I felt troubled.  For a day or two I pondered on the distressing affair, but I was resolutely determined not to intervene.  Then it was the idea occurred to me.  To be frank, it was Elizabeth who actually inspired it.  I was giving orders for dinner and was suggesting apple turnovers for a sweet, when she blandly remarked, ‘Talkin’ o’ turnovers, Mr. Roarings is dead gone on that there Miss ’Arringay now, I ‘ear.’

‘Your hearing does seem unusually good,’ I said coldly.  Certainly, I had never mentioned the subject to any one but Henry.  It was a surprise to discover that I had, at the same time, been mentioning it to Elizabeth as well.

‘Nice wife she’d make him,’ continued the irrepressible Elizabeth, ’a flipperty-flapperty piece o’ goods like ‘er.’

‘We will have cheese straws after the sweet, Elizabeth,’ I said in tones of chill rebuke.

’Right-o, ‘m.  Well, wot are you goin’ to do about it?’

‘Do about what?’

‘Mr. Roarings an’ Miss ’Arringay.  ’E isn’t ’er style as any one could see with ’arf an eye, but ’e’s fair blinded just now.  Wot an eye-opener it’d be if ’e got to know ’er proper—­met ’er frequent, so to speak.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.’

’Well, ’ere’s a case in point.  My sister-in-law’s brother—­nice young chap ’e was too—­fell in with a girl that wasn’t the right one fer ’im—­no clarss like,—­but ’e wouldn’t ’ear a word agen ’er.  So my sister-in-law thinks of a plan.  She arsks both ‘er brother an’ the young woman ‘e was courtin’ to go and spend their ’olidays with ’er at the seaside.  Which they did an’—­bless yer—­wot with seein’ ’er every day an’ gettin’ to know ’er too well ‘e soon got sick o’ ’er.  Why, ’e’d given ’er a black eye afore the week was out.  Now if Mr. Roarings and Miss ‘Arringay met frequent like that——­’

‘Elizabeth,’ I interposed, ‘mind your own business’; and I went out of the kitchen with dignity.

Nevertheless, I was compelled to admit that she had given me an inspiration.  That girl, under a rough and unpromising exterior, has fecundity of ideas which astonishes me.  Had she been in a higher class in life—­or even able to spell—­she might have been a regular contributor to the Sunday papers.

‘Henry,’ I said, hurrying into the study.  ’I have got a solution regarding William’s entanglement.  I am going to invite Gladys to spend a week here with us.’

‘How can that help?  I don’t quite see——­’

’My dear ass, the idea isn’t a novel one, but in this case it’s excellent.  I’ll write her a note on the instant and ask her if she’ll come, giving as a pretext that I’m feeling lonely in Marion’s absence.’

‘But why this hurry?  Hadn’t you better think it over first?’

’If I pause to think it over, Henry, I know I shall decide that I can’t tolerate Gladys for an entire week.  As it is, I expect she’ll drive me stark mad.  No, no, let me write while I am in my present frenzy of philanthropy?’