'Nothing,' said Merton in a low voice. 'Been alligator farming, or
ostrich farming, or ranching, and come back shorn; they all come back. He
wants to be an ecclesiastical "chucker out," and cope with Mr. Kensitt
and Co. New profession.'

'He ought not to be here. He can ride and shoot.'

'He is the only son of his mother and she is a widow.'

'He ought to go out. My only brother is out. I wish I were a man. I
hate dawdlers.' She looked at him: her eyes were large and grey under
black lashes, they were dark and louring.

'Have you, by any chance, a spark of the devil in you?' asked Merton,
taking a social header.

'I have been told so, and sometimes thought so,' said Miss Willoughby.
'Perhaps this one will go out by fasting if not by prayer. Yes, I _have_
a spark of the Accuser of the Brethren.'

'_Tant mieux_,' thought Merton.

All the people were talking and laughing now. Miss Maskelyne told a
story to the table. She did a trick with a wine glass, forks, and a
cork. Logan interviewed Miss Martin, who wrote tales for the penny
fiction people, on her methods. Had she a moral aim, a purpose? Did she
create her characters first, and let them evolve their fortunes, or did
she invent a plot, and make her characters fit in?

Miss Martin said she began with a situation: 'I wish I could get one