"Then he's not changed, in all these years!" wept the mother of curates.

"If he has, it's for the worse," said Alice. "How was I to tell?" she
faced the curates. "How could I know? And yet nobody, nobody, could be
nicer than he is at times!"

"That's true, that's true," responded the authentic Mrs. Henry Leek. "He
was always so changeable. So queer."

"Queer!" Alice took up the word. "That's it Queer! I don't think he's
_quite_ right in his head, not quite right. He has the very strangest
fancies. I never take any notice of them, but they're there. I seldom
get up in the morning without thinking, 'Well, perhaps to-day he'll have
to be taken off.'"

"Taken off?"

"Yes, to Hanwell, or wherever it is. And you must remember," she said
gazing firmly at the curates, "you've got his blood in your veins. Don't
forget that. I suppose you want to make him go back to you, Mrs. Leek,
as he certainly ought."

"Ye-es," murmured Mrs. Leek feebly.

"Well, if you can persuade him to go," said Alice, "if you can make him
see his duty, you're welcome. But I'm sorry for you. I think I ought to
tell you that this is my house, and my furniture. He's got nothing at
all. I expect he never could save. Many's the blow he's laid on me in
anger, but all the same I pity him. I pity him. And I wouldn't like to