In a drawer beneath the desk she discovered his pocket diaries. Every night before retiring it had been his custom to fill a space an inch deep and two inches across with a closely written pencilled commentary on the day’s events. For ten, twelve, fifteen--perhaps twenty years he had done this. Catherine turned over the pages of one of them at random. They contained such items as: “Sweet peas coming up well. Shall buy some more wire-netting for them.... Clotters away at a funeral. Did his registers for him.... Gave paper on ‘Tennyson’ to Mutual Impr. Soc. Have been asked to speak at Annual Temperance Social....” Nearly all the entries were domestic, or connected with Mr. Weston’s labours in the school, the chapel or the garden. Catherine searched anxiously for any mention of herself. There were not many. Sometimes a chance remark such as: “C. came with me to chapel ...” or “C. out to tea.” And once the strange entry: “C. been misbehaving. But I think L. knows the right way to manage her.” (L. was, of course, Laura, his wife.) ... Catherine looked up the entry for November 17th, the day on which she had left Kitchener Road. It ran: “Clotters away again this morning. Had to take IVA in mensuration. Feel very tired. Cold wind. Did not go to night-school.” That was all! No mention of her! And on the day he met her in the train to Liverpool Street he wrote: “Warm spring sort of day. Went to Ealing to see Rogers. Rogers got a job under the L.C.C. Two boys and a girl. Mrs. R. rather theatrical....” And in the corner, all cramped up, as if he had stuck it in as a doubtful after-thought: “Met C. in train to L’pool St. Seems well enough.” Grudging, diffident, self-reproachful, sardonic, that remark--“Seems well enough.” With the emphasis no doubt on the “seems.” Lately the entries had been getting more sprightly. “Met Miss Picksley to-day. Promised her a paper on W. Shakespeare for the Mut. Impr. Soc....” “Walked to High Wood after chapel. Beautiful moonlight. Saw motor-bus collision in B. High St. coming back....” “Bought gramophone sec. hand off Clayton. £2 10. Like a bit of music. No piano now, of course....” “Of course.”