"Then you leave here?" he concludes at last.

"Yes. It is only the male Pemberthys who rule," she says.

"Your--your children?"

"My one little boy, my dear Algy, died before his father. It was
a great disappointment to my husband that he should die. We female
Pemberthys" she says, with a sudden real bright little smile that
settles down into sadness again very quickly, "do not count for a
great deal in the family."

"How long has Mr. Pemberthy been dead?"

"Six months."

"You are left poor?" he says, very quickly now.

"I--I don't think you have a right to ask me such a question,
sir."

"I have no right," he replies. "These are foreign manners. Excuse
them, please; don't mind me."

Still he is persistent.

"From son to son's son, and the women left anywhere and anyhow--that
is the Pemberthy law, I expect. I have seen the workings of such a
law before. Not that I ought to complain," he adds, with a forced