decent."

"The dragon's sheathed her talons? Well, that's good biz. You went off
as tragic as Iphigenia, heroically declaring yourself the family
sacrifice."

"Did I?" Winona had almost forgotten her original attitude of martyr.
Three weeks had made a vast difference to her feelings.

"If you can peg it out in comfort with the dragon so much to the good.
Shouldn't care to live here myself though. It's a dull hole. Number 10,
Abbey Close wouldn't be my choice of a residence."

"Well, it's not likely you'll ever have the chance of living here!"
retorted Winona, taking up the cudgels for her adopted home.

"I don't know about that," returned Percy. "The house belongs to Aunt
Harriet. She'll have to leave her property to somebody, I suppose, when
she shuffles off this mortal coil. I'm the eldest son, and my name's
Percy Beach Woodward. That ought to count for something."

"Aunt Harriet's not going to die yet," said Winona gravely. "I think
it's horrid of you to talk like this!"

"Oh, I don't wish the old girl any harm, but one may have an eye to the
future all the same," was the airy response. "D'you remember Jack
Cassidy who was a pupil at the Vicarage? His aunt left him five thousand
pounds."

"Yes, and I heard he's muddling it away as fast as he can. Mary James