"Pray do, Mrs. Trapes," he said heartily; whereupon, having fetched her
chocolates, Mrs. Trapes ensconced herself in the easy chair and opening
the box, viewed its contents with glistening eyes.

"You're an Englishman, ain't you?" she enquired after a while, munching
luxuriously.

"No, but my mother was born in England."

"You don't say!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes. "So was I--born in the Old Kent
Road, Mr. Geoffrey. I came over to N' York thirty long years ago as cook
general to Hermy Chesterton's ma. When she went and married again, I
left her an' got married myself to Trapes--a foreman, Mr. Geoffrey, with
a noble 'eart as 'ad wooed me long!" Here Mrs. Trapes opened the candy
box again and, after long and careful deliberation, selected a chocolate
with gentle, toil-worn fingers, and putting it in her mouth, sighed her
approbation. "They sure are good!" she murmured. "But talkin' o' Hermy
Chesterton's ma," she went on after a blissful interval, "I been
wondering where you came to meet that b'y Arthur?"

"Ah, Mrs. Trapes," sighed Ravenslee, leaning back in his chair and
shaking a rueful head, "you touch on gloomy matters. As the story books
say, 'thereby hangs a tale'--the dismal tale of a miserable wretch whose
appetite was bad, whose sleep was worse, and whose temper was worst of
all--oh, a very wretched wretch indeed!"

"My land!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, stopping abruptly in the act of
masticating a large chocolate walnut, "so bad as that, Mr. Geoffrey?"

"Worse!" he nodded gloomily. "It is indeed a gloomy tale, a tale dark