for she owns all these things, and also the penny flag on her breast.
She puts them away in the drawer, the scarf over them, the lavender on
the scarf. Her air of triumph well becomes her. She lifts the pail and
the mop, and slouches off gamely to the day's toil.






THE NEW WORD


Any room nowadays must be the scene, for any father and any son are the
_dramatis personae_. We could pick them up in Mayfair, in Tooting,
on the Veldt, in rectories or in grocers' back parlours, dump them down
on our toy stage and tell them to begin. It is a great gathering to
choose from, but our needs are small. Let the company shake hands, and
all go away but two.

The two who have remained (it is discovered on inquiry) are Mr. Torrance
and his boy; so let us make use of them. Torrance did not linger in
order to be chosen, he was anxious, like all of them, to be off; but we
recognised him, and sternly signed to him to stay. Not that we knew him
personally, but the fact is, we remembered him (we never forget a face)
as the legal person who reads out the names of the jury before the court
opens, and who brushes aside your reasons for wanting to be let off. It
pleases our humour to tell Mr. Torrance that we cannot let him off.

He does not look so formidable as when last we saw him, and this is