to the wall, but she did not bother to turn them round. On the
table were dirty teacups, a flat chocolate cake, and Omar
Khayyam, with an Oswego biscuit between his pages. Also a vase
filled with the crimson leaves of autumn. This made her smile.

Then she saw her host's shoes: he had left them lying on the
sofa. Rickie was slightly deformed, and so the shoes were not the
same size, and one of them had a thick heel to help him towards
an even walk. "Ugh!" she exclaimed, and removed them gingerly to
the bedroom. There she saw other shoes and boots and pumps, a
whole row of them, all deformed. "Ugh! Poor boy! It is too bad.
Why shouldn't he be like other people? This hereditary business
is too awful." She shut the door with a sigh. Then she recalled
the perfect form of Gerald, his athletic walk, the poise of his
shoulders, his arms stretched forward to receive her. Gradually
she was comforted.

"I beg your pardon, miss, but might I ask how many to lay?" It
was the bedmaker, Mrs. Aberdeen.

"Three, I think," said Agnes, smiling pleasantly. "Mr. Elliot'll
be back in a minute. He has gone to order dinner.

"Thank you, miss."

"Plenty of teacups to wash up!"

"But teacups is easy washing, particularly Mr. Elliot's."

"Why are his so easy?"