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 you're shocking Mr. Rossiter!" She lingered on the name as though he were something delicious to eat.

"I believe," thought Rossiter, "they all want to marry me! Is this insight or delirium? P'raps not Aunt Willoughby, but"

He appraised Jervis round the edge of the newspaper. Surely he was showier, more attractive? Why couldn't he divert some of their attentions; take on, say, Miss Emily and Mrs. Russel? Mrs. Russel was old enough to be the mother of either of them.

A hand shot out suddenly from behind the urn. Rossiter jumped.

"had your second cup of coffee, yet," Mrs. Russel was saying. "You look quite poetic, Mr. Rossiter"—she was referring to his abstracted glare?—"Aren't you going to pass along your cup?"

"Thank you—half a cup, if you please."

"There's no hurry." She glanced over her shoulder at the round relentless clock-face on the mantel. "You see you eat rather faster than the others, Mr. Rossiter, though they have had a bit of a start this morning!"