"But then," proceeded Mrs. Errington, as she rang the bell to order tea, "I have not the vanity to suppose that he would have done so without the exercise of some little care and tact on my part. Tact, my dear Castalia--tact is the most precious gift a wife can bring to the domestic circle. But the Ancrams always had enormous tact--Give us some tea, if you please, Mrs. Thimbleby, and be careful that the water boils--proverbial for it, in fact!" Algernon thought it time to come to the rescue. He did not choose his comfort to be destroyed by a passage of arms between his mother and his wife, so he deftly turned the conversation to less dangerous topics, and things proceeded peacefully until the tea was served. "Who was that man that was coming in to the house with us?" asked Castalia, as she sipped her tea from one of Mrs. Errington's antique blue and white china cups. "Would it be Mr. Diamond----? But no; you know him by sight. Or--oh, I suppose it was that Methodist preacher, Powell!" "Powell! Yes, that was the name--David Powell." "Most likely. He is in and out at all hours. Really, Algernon, do you know--you remember the fellow, how he used to annoy us at Maxfield's. Well, do you know, I believe he is quite crazy!" "You have always entertained that opinion, I believe, ma'am." "Oh, but, my dear boy, I think he is demented in real downright earnest now. I do indeed. I'm sure the things that poor weak-minded Mrs. Thimbleby tells me about him----! He has delusions of all kinds; hears voices, sees visions. I should say it is a case of what your father would have called 'melancholy madness.' Really, Algy, I frequently think about it. It is quite alarming sometimes in the night if I happen to wake up, to remember that there is a lunatic sleeping overhead. You know he might take it into his head to murder one! Or if he only killed himself--which is perhaps more likely--it would be a highly unpleasant circumstance. I could not possibly remain in the lodgings, you know. Out of the question! And so I told that silly Thimbleby. I said to her, 'Observe, Mrs. Thimbleby, if any dreadful thing happens in this house--a suicide or anything of that sort--I shall leave you at an hour's notice. I wish you well, and I have no desire to withdraw my patronage from you, but you could not expect me to look over a coroner's inquest.'" Algernon threw his head back and laughed heartily. "That was a fair warning, at any rate!" said he. "And if Mr. David Powell has any consideration for his landlady, he will profit by it--that is to say, supposing Mrs. Thimbleby tells him of it. What did she say?" "Oh, she merely cried and whimpered, and hid her face in her apron. She is terribly weak-minded, poor creature." Castalia had been listening in silence. All at once she said, "How many miserable people there are!" "Very true, Cassy; provincial postmasters and others. And part of my miserable lot is to go down to the office again for an hour to-night."