be few shops less inviting outwardly than a small tailor's in a provincial town, which shows only bales of woolen stuff to tempt the passer-by. Perhaps Hugh Randal's heart was not in his window-dressing; perhaps he had no desire to break through the traditions of the shop before it had been his. Anyhow the shop showed uninviting.

It happened to be a bright fine morning of February when Lady Anne Chute and Mrs. Massey came in at the low-fronted door of the shop. They had driven over and had left their carriage round the corner, at the foot of the steep, narrow street, so that the master of the shop, who was measuring tweed with a yard measure by the long counter, had no warning of the approach of the ladies till they came in.

Mount Shandon was far enough away from Ardnagowan for Lady Anne to be unknown in the town. She had to stoop as she entered the shop, and when she had entered she looked too tall and too big for the narrow and low place.

As she came in Hugh Randal glanced round and then flushed with wonder and delight. She was like the goddess of spring in the dark shop. She was wearing a long cloak of pale lavender cloth and she had a bunch of daffodils in her hand. Her wide hat of straw that matched the color of her cloak was trimmed with white and purple lilac. He dropped his yard measure and went forward to meet her. For the moment he saw only her, though as his eyes traveled on he was conscious that there was another lady with her.

He set chairs for the two, and then stood by them with his head bent, waiting for what they might say. Mrs. Massey, glancing at him with interest, said to herself that he was the very antithesis of the tailor who was a ninth part of a man. Ironies of fate amused her with a rueful amusement; and this was one of them, that this slender, bright young man, with the eager eyes under the brown hair, should be a tailor, a tailor of all things! She remembered "the great Mel" of "Evan Harrington" and it did not console her. The magnificence of "the great Mel" was an artificial, a conventional, town-bred magnificence, while this young man breathed of the open air and the country green.

The close shop had the oily smell of new woolens. There was a mirror on one wall. At the further end there was a square half-glass enclosure for fitting purposes. Down the

middle of the shop ran the counter and behind it were the open shelves filled in with bales of cloth. Close by where they were sitting was a little glass-enclosed office. Glancing casually towards it Mrs. Massey caught a glimpse within its darkness of a pale anæmic-looking girl. She had an open account-book on the desk before her, but upon it was lying, doubled up, a penny novelette. The girl was glancing below the guillotine-like square, where she received money and handed out bills, with eager interest at Lady Anne.

"Ah," Mrs. Massey said to herself, "the fiancée! And a penny novelette! So he has not persuaded her to take an interest in Mr. Yeat's poetry."

There was a canary singing shrilly somewhere out of sight. For the rest, the air of the shop was oppressive, laden with the minute particles of woolen stuff, smelling of oil.

The young man stood inclining his charming head. He did not say a word, but waited for these visitors from another world to speak first.

"I should have shrieked," Mrs. Massey said to herself, "if he had said: 'And what, Madam, can I have the pleasure of showing you?' I am so grateful that he did not."

She was glad that Lady Anne had negatived her proposal that they should become acquainted for themselves with what manner of man Mother Patrick's paragon was by ordering a coat and skirt. To be sure it wouldn't fit; but Lady Anne could hand it over to her maid.

"I couldn't do that," Lady Anne had said. "I should have to wear it if he made it. That is if he was to be coming and going. He might see it on Ellison, and how horrible that would be!"

"And to be sure it would be a ridiculous misfit for Ellison. Very well, then, Donna Quixote, plunge straight into the matter, in medias res, as the newspapers say."

"I shall know as soon as I see him, if he is the right kind

of person," Lady Anne had said confidently.

"You are Mr. Randal?" she asked him now sweetly. "Yes; I am Hugh Randal."

"Dear me, he doesn't say even 'Madam,'" Mrs. Massey smiled to herself. "What an absurd young man to conduct a tailor's business! Where can he have learned it?"

"Mother Patrick, of the Point Convent, has been talking to

me about you, or rather talking to my friend, Mrs. Massey. I am Lady Anne Chute. Perhaps you have heard of me. I have been trying to do something for my tenants."

"I have seen some of the Mount Shandon work."

His voice was eager and yet quiet. The soft brogue seemed to go with it wonderfully well.

"I expect he thinks we're glorified commercial travelers," Mrs. Massey thought, laughing silently to herself, "and that Anne has put on her allurements to get him as a customer for the Mount Shandon tweeds and friezes. I hope she'll be quick about enlightening him. I can't stand this place much longer."

The swing-door opened, and a good-looking, vulgar young man came in. He had golden hair and a golden beard, ruddy cheeks, and blue eyes. He stared at the ladies; then his gaze transferred itself to Hugh Randal. There was something vulgarly chaffing in his expression.

"There's a crease in the back of this coat that destroys my figure entirely," he said. "Were you thinking that I wanted tucks in it? If more convenient I can call at another time. I had no idea you'd be engaged.'

"You can call another time or you can see the fitter now," Hugh Randall said with an air of patient dignity. "If you will go into the fitting-room I will call down Mr. Allen."

"Not at all, not at all," said the other jauntily. "I'll look in later. I want you to see the fitting. I'm sure I'm sorry I disturbed you. Well, so long!"

He disappeared through the swing door, sending back as he went lingering glances at Lady Anne. Impertinent fellow! How dared he stare! Mrs. Massey thought with half-humorous indignation. She had no idea that if the china-pots ventured out into the crowded stream with those of common clay they should be exempt from collisions, confusions.

"Perhaps, if you wish to speak to me, Lady Anne, you and Mrs. Massey would not mind coming this way. There may be interruptions here at any moment."

"It ought to have been 'Your Ladyship and the other lady,'" Mrs. Massey thought as she got up and followed the young man down the narrow passage between the counter and the wall where they had to walk single file.

At the end of the shop he opened a door, half of which

was muffled glass, and stood back to allow the ladies to preceed him. They stepped into an old courtyard. Another house faced them where they stood. There was a covered balcony and a flight of steps up to an open door. The balcony was covered with a creeper that was still leafless, although it showed buds. The same creeper ran over a trellis and covered the two side walls of the courtyard. There were seats in the courtyard, a couple of large green tubs had shrubs in them. There was a pigeon-cote on the wall, on the top of which some pigeons were sunning themselves.

"Will you come into the house, or would you prefer to sit here?" Hugh Randal asked. "It's a beautiful morning for the time of year."

"Oh, here, here," Mrs. Massey answered for both, sitting down as she said it on one of the green benches.

But she was not allowed to stay there. With a murmured protestation Hugh Randal disappeared into the house and brought out a wicker chair with a soft cushion in it. A little girl followed him with a similar chair for Lady Anne. She had a pale face of the purest oval and silky dark ringlets fell about it as she stooped. "Thank you, Eily dear," Hugh Randal said, as he took the chair from her and set it for Lady Anne.

There was a clattering of sparrows in the creeper. The canary resumed his shrill singing in the veranda. An old sheep-dog came limping down the steps and rubbed himself insinuatingly against his master before he lay down beside

him.

"Won't you sit?" Lady Anne asked, smiling up at the young man. "It is to be quite a long conversation. As a matter of fact, Mr. Randal, my friends think that I should have a man, a man of business, to help me about my industries. They have persuaded me to agree with them. I have been pretty sure of my own business faculties, but-"

"They are quite right," he said with unexpected bluntness. "The industries would be the better for a few plain business heads. You see, Lady Anne, the fine ladies and gentlemen who take up those things, they mess it for want of business knowledge. How could they have it? The industries must -rest on a business basis. We can't take sentiment into consideration."

He spoke almost harshly, but Lady Anne was not offended. As for Mrs. Massey, she was delighted. She had often said the same thing and had not been taken seriously.

"The worst of it," she put in plaintively, "is that when we try to do any good in the world we are still only fine ladies and gentlemen; and we mess it, as you put it very clearly."

He flashed a sudden bright smile at her which altered the whole expression of his face.

"I ask your pardon for my plain speaking," he said. "And I didn't mean you, Mrs. Massey. I have often heard Mother Patrick has a great opinion of you."

of you.

"And I am flattered at Mother Patrick's great opinion," she said, "I have a great opinion of her."

"Not to detain you too long, Mr. Randal," went on Lady Anne, "Mother Patrick thought that you might be willing to become my man of business. What do you think?"

He looked at her for a moment in silence. Then he spoke :

"Mother Patrick perhaps told you that I had duties, obligations."

"She said that you had felt yourself bound to carry on your father's business, but-" she hesitated a moment-"she thought your abilities were thrown away here. Is there no one who would carry on the business for you? I could offer you a salary of five hundred a year."

"Five hundred a year," he repeated, contracting his thin brows.

"Five hundred pounds, my dear Anne!" Mrs. Massey said to herself. "Three hundred would have been quite enough; oh, Donna Quixote!'

"I should have to do a good deal for you, Lady Anne," he went on, "to be worth five hundred pounds a year."

"There will be a great deal for you to do," she said sweetly. "If you had not the love for the work I should not hope that you could do it. It has been extending in so many directions; I have known that it was beyond me for some time. Mother Patrick thought you would bring the love to it and the sympathy as well as the knowledge."

"Mother Patrick was right," he said. 'But, you offer me too much. What room is there for love with a salary of five