it must have been a fluke. I seem to have said so much last night
without knowing it. I'm afraid I was showing off a little."

The painful tears of confession were in her eyes, but she added,
changing the subject: "Do you live alone?"

"Yes, absolutely," said Miss Ford. "My friends call me a perfect hermit.
I hardly ever have visitors in my spare room, it makes so much work for
my three maids."

"I suppose you wouldn't care to divorce your three maids and come and
live here," suggested the witch. "I could of course cure you of the
nerve-storms you speak of. Or rather I could help you to have
nerve-storms all the time, without any stagnant grown-upness in between.
Then you wouldn't notice the nerve-storms. This house is a sort of
nursing home and college combined. I'll read you the prospectus."

* * * * *

"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