The future Mrs Roding turned bright, laughing eyes on the major. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. Only Gwen left a letter on the pincushion. “It is such a very respectable boarding-house,” she said. ‘To me, quickly!’ There was a brief hush, and then the shouts resumed and several pairs of feet clattered towards her from, as it seemed, several directions. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly.
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