‘Powell,’ she said.  ’Here’s John Hessian, and he wants to see you!’

‘The dickens!’ exclaimed Liversage, glancing at Annie.

‘I must go,’ said Annie.  ’I shall go by the fields.  Good night, dear Mrs Liversage.’

‘Wait ten seconds,’ Liversage pleaded, ‘and I’ll be with you.’  And he ran off.

John, haggard and undone, was awaiting him in the drawing-room.

‘Pow,’ said he, ’I’ve had a fearful row with Bob, and I can’t possibly sleep in our house tonight.  Don’t talk to me.  But let me have one of the beds in your spare room, will you?  There’s a good chap.’

‘Why, of course, Johnnie,’ said Liversage.  ‘Of course.’

‘And I’ll go right to bed now,’ said John.

An hour later, after Powell Liversage had seen his affianced to her abode and returned home, and after his mother had gone to bed, there was a knock at the front door, and Liversage opened to Robert Hessian.

‘Look here, Pow,’ said Robert, whose condition was deplorable, ’I want to sleep here tonight.  Do you mind?  Fact is, I’ve had a devil of a shindy with Jack, and Maggie’s run off, and, anyhow, I couldn’t possibly stop in the same house with Jack tonight.’

‘But what—?’

‘See here,’ said Robert.  ’I can’t talk.  Just let me have a bed in your spare room.  I’m sure you mother won’t mind.’

‘Why, certainly,’ said Liversage.

He lit a candle, escorted Robert upstairs, opened the door of the spare room, gave the candle to Robert, pushed him in, said ’Good night,’ and shut the door.

What a night!

THE NINETEENTH HAT

A dramatic moment was about to arrive in the joint career of Stephen Cheswardine and Vera his wife.  The motor-car stood by the side of the pavement of the Strand, Torquay, that resort of southern wealth and fashion.  The chauffeur, Felix, had gone into the automobile shop to procure petrol.  Mr Cheswardine looking longer than ever in his long coat, was pacing the busy footpath.  Mrs Cheswardine, her beauty obscured behind a flowing brown veil, was lolling in the tonneau, very pleased to be in the tonneau, very pleased to be observed by all Torquay in the tonneau, very satisfied with her husband, and with the Napier car, and especially with Felix, now buying petrol.  Suddenly Mrs Cheswardine perceived that next door but one to the automobile shop was a milliner’s.  She sat up and gazed.  According to a card in the window an ‘after-season sale’ was in progress that June day at the milliner’s.  There were two rows of hats in the window, each hat plainly ticketed.  Mrs Cheswardine descended from the car, crossed the pavement, and gave to the window the whole of her attention.