her. She faltered; touched an eye with her handkerchief; wanly smiled
with the resigned martyrdom of a true gentlewoman.

As so-often in this life, the unspoken word was more powerful than
mightiest eloquence. Mr. Marrapit is not to be blamed for the
inference he drew. He pictured the dead Mr. Major a gentleman sharing
with his wife a passion for cats; by memory of which fond trait his
widow's devotion to the species would be yet further enhanced, would
be hallowed.

There is the further thought in this connection that once more, as so
often in this life, the unspoken word had saved the lie direct. Once
only, in point of fact, had Mrs. Major seen her late husband directly
occupied with a cat, and the occasion had been the cause of their
vacating their lodgings in Shepherd's Bush precisely thirty minutes
later. Mr. Major, under influence of his unfortunate malady, with
savage foot had sped the landlady's cat down a flight of stairs; and
the landlady had taken the matter in peculiarly harsh spirit.

All this, however, lay deeply hidden beneath Mrs. Major's unspoken
word. The vision of a gentle Mr. Major that Mr. Marrapit conjured
sealed the liking he had immediately taken to Mrs. Major, and thus was
she installed.

The masterly woman, upon this July afternoon, desisted from her
crocheting; observed in the dozing figure beside her signs of
movement; turned to it, ready for speech.

This she saw. From the reluctant rays of a passing sun a white silk
handkerchief protected a nicely polished head--a little bumpy, fringed