Miss Alan did not follow, but gathered that she was being mocked
in an agreeable way. Her sister was a little disappointed in Mr.
Beebe, having expected better things from a clergyman whose head
was bald and who wore a pair of russet whiskers. Indeed, who
would have supposed that tolerance, sympathy, and a sense of
humour would inhabit that militant form?

In the midst of her satisfaction she continued to sidle, and at
last the cause was disclosed. From the chair beneath her she
extracted a gun-metal cigarette-case, on which were powdered in
turquoise the initials "E. L."

"That belongs to Lavish." said the clergyman. "A good fellow,
Lavish, but I wish she'd start a pipe."

"Oh, Mr. Beebe," said Miss Alan, divided between awe and mirth.
"Indeed, though it is dreadful for her to smoke, it is not quite
as dreadful as you suppose. She took to it, practically in
despair, after her life's work was carried away in a landslip.
Surely that makes it more excusable."

"What was that?" asked Lucy.

Mr. Beebe sat back complacently, and Miss Alan began as follows:
"It was a novel--and I am afraid, from what I can gather, not a
very nice novel. It is so sad when people who have abilities
misuse them, and I must say they nearly always do. Anyhow, she
left it almost finished in the Grotto of the Calvary at the
Capuccini Hotel at Amalfi while she went for a little ink. She