anything illegal. All the same she was distrait, and "We shall
meet later, sir, I dessy," was all the greeting Rickie got from
her.

"Now what kind of a life has Mrs. Aberdeen?" he exclaimed, as he
and Ansell pursued the Station Road. "Here these bedders come and
make us comfortable. We owe an enormous amount to them, their
wages are absurd, and we know nothing about them. Off they go to
Barnwell, and then their lives are hidden. I just know that Mrs.
Aberdeen has a husband, but that's all. She never will talk about
him. Now I do so want to fill in her life. I see one-half of it.
What's the other half? She may have a real jolly house, in good
taste, with a little garden and books, and pictures. Or, again,
she mayn't. But in any case one ought to know. I know she'd
dislike it, but she oughtn't to dislike. After all, bedders are
to blame for the present lamentable state of things, just as much
as gentlefolk. She ought to want me to come. She ought to
introduce me to her husband."

They had reached the corner of Hills Road. Ansell spoke for the
first time. He said, "Ugh!"

"Drains?"

"Yes. A spiritual cesspool."

Rickie laughed.

"I expected it from your letter."