the sleigh arrived at the Usshers', if it ever did arrive, its empty
shattered condition would suggest an accident. The Usshers were at that
moment probably searching for them in ditches, and hedges. The marks of
the sleigh would be quickly obliterated by the storm. No, she thought
comfortably, there was no escape from the fact that their situation was
compromising. The only question was how could the matter be most
tactfully called to his attention. At the moment he seemed happily
unaware that such things as the proprieties existed.

At this his head appeared at the head of the cellar stairs.

"Watch the cereal, please," he said, "and see that it doesn't burn."

"Like King Alfred?"

"Not too much like him, please, for that pitiful little dab of food is
about all we have to eat."

When he was gone Christine advanced toward the stove and looked at the
cereal--looked at it closely, but it seemed to her to be but little
benefited by her attention. Presently she discovered on a shelf beside
the laundry clock a pinkish purple paper novel, called: "The Crime of the
Season." Its cover depicted a man in a check suit and side-whiskers
looking on in astonishment at the removal of a drowned lady in full
evening dress from a very minute pond. Christine opened it, and was so
fortunate as to come full upon the crime. She became as completely
absorbed in it as the laundress had been before her.

She was recalled to the more sordid but less criminal surroundings of
real life by a strong pungent smell. She sniffed, and then her heart