know what she was talking about--which was doubtless perfectly
true. But the manner of telling seems to have been disagreeable
and Alex was very annoyed and complained to Thomson, the new
agent. He, poor chap, was between the devil and the deep sea, for
the tenants had also been complaining that they were being
interfered with. So he had to go to Horringford and there was a
royal row. The upshot of it was that Alex rang me up on the
'phone this morning to tell me that Horringford was behaving like
a bear, that he was so wrapped up in his musty mummies that he
hadn't a spark of philanthropy in him, and that she was coming
over to lunch tomorrow to tell me all about it--she's delighted to
hear that the house is open again, and will come on to you for
tea, when you will doubtless get a second edition of her woes.
Half-an-hour later Horringford rang me up to say that Alex had
been particularly tiresome over some new crank which had set
everybody by the ears, that Thomson was sending in a resignation
daily, altogether there was the deuce to pay, and would I use my
influence and talk sense to her. It appears he is working at high
pressure to finish a monograph on one of the Pharaohs and was
considerably ruffled at being interrupted."

"If he cared a little less for the Pharaohs and a little more for
Alex--" suggested Miss Craven, blowing smoke rings thoughtfully.
Peters shook his head.

"He did care--that's the pity of it," he said slowly, "but what
can you expect?--you know how it was. Alex was a child married
when she should have been in the schoolroom, without a voice in
the matter. Horringford was nearly twenty years her senior, always
reserved and absorbed in his Egyptian researches. Alex hadn't an