The same day he began his search, and was absent for several hours without hopeful result. No one would set forth gaily upon such an excursion, and to Kingcote the task was revolting; Mrs. Bolt was so often met with, and so seldom any one capable of inspiring human confidence. When he got back wearied, midway in the afternoon, Mary was out. On the sitting-room table he found a rather dirty envelope addressed to himself, but not closed; in it was a sheet of note-paper, folded awry, whereon was written the account of moneys due, which he had asked for. It was a remarkable document, alike in conception and execution; badly written, worse spelt, frequently difficult to decipher at all. However, the sum total at the end stood in plain enough figures: one pound, sixteen shillings, and eightpence three farthings. There was nothing alarming in this demand; the point which exacted attention was the way in which the total was constructed. Beginning with a lump sum, Mrs. Bolt debited her tenant in five days’ “attendance,” at three shillings a day; the remainder of the charge consisted of innumerable items of petty expenditure, each assigned to its day. It would be: “One cup tee, 3d.; one basern brorth, 5d.; fetchin docter, 3d.; bread and buter for childern, 3d.,” and so on. Kingcote at first regarded this bill with disgust, then he was able to see the humorous side of the situation, and broke into loud laughter. Mrs. Bolt, who had her ear at the door, heard the laughter, and, attributing it to the smallness of her demand, promised to “give it” her husband for having deemed further extortion unadvisable. Mary came in shortly, bringing several parcels; the exertion of walking a very brief distance was too much for her strength, she sank on a chair in exhaustion. Kingcote held the bill behind his back. “You told me, I think,” he said, with a natural smile, “that Mrs. Bolt had shown you great kindness the last few days, in doing little services for you, and so on?” “She has, really; I was ashamed to ask for so much.” “To ask? Ah, then you agreed with her to give you regular service?” “Oh, no,” she professed in surprise. “It was all her kindness; she pressed it on me. She’s really kind-hearted when you’re in need.” “Remarkably so,” said her brother, laughing again. “Pray glance your eye over that.” (Mrs. Bolt had crept to the door when she heard Mary enter; not a word escaped her.) Mary looked down each of the pages, her amazement increasing; at the end she raised her eyes in indignation. Women always take small extortion more seriously than men, and their sense of humour is generally defective. “Bernard! How _can_ she do such a thing? Oh, I should be ashamed!” “No doubt you would, my dear sister; you and Mrs. Bolt are of somewhat different clay.” She began to contest items. “No, no, we wont talk about it,” Kingcote said, taking the dirty paper from her hands. “You will pay it?”