time she knows I am her master.” “Go away,” said Mr. Korner to a youth of pasty appearance who, with open mouth, had stopped immediately in front of him. “I'm fond o' listening,” explained the pasty youth. “Who's talking?” demanded Mr. Korner. “You are,” replied the pasty youth. It is a long journey from the city to Ravenscourt Park, but the task of planning out the future life of Mrs. Korner and himself kept Mr. Korner wide awake and interested. When he got out of the train the thing chiefly troubling him was the three-quarters of a mile of muddy road stretching between him and his determination to make things clear to Mrs. Korner then and there. The sight of Acacia Villa, suggesting that everybody was in bed and asleep, served to further irritate him. A dog-like wife would have been sitting up to see if there was anything he wanted. Mr. Korner, acting on the advice of his own brass plate, not only knocked but also rang. As the door did not immediately fly open, he continued to knock and ring. The window of the best bedroom on the first floor opened. “Is that you?” said the voice of Mrs. Korner. There was, as it happened, a distinct suggestion of passion in Mrs. Korner's voice, but not of the passion Mr. Korner was wishful to inspire. It made him a little more angry than he was before. “Don't you talk to me with your head out of the window as if this were a gallanty show. You come down and open the door,” commanded Mr. Korner. “Haven't you got your latchkey?” demanded Mrs. Korner. For answer Mr. Korner attacked the door again. The window closed. The next moment but six or seven, the door was opened with such suddenness that Mr. Korner, still gripping the knocker, was borne inward in a flying attitude. Mrs. Korner had descended the stairs ready with a few remarks. She had not anticipated that Mr. Korner, usually slow of speech, could be even readier. “Where's my supper?” indignantly demanded Mr. Korner, still supported by the knocker. Mrs. Korner, too astonished for words, simply stared. “Where's my supper?” repeated Mr. Korner, by this time worked up into genuine astonishment that it was not ready for him. “What's everybody mean, going off to bed, when the masterororous hasn't had his supper?” “Is anything the matter, dear?” was heard the voice of Miss Greene, speaking from the neighbourhood of the first landing. “Come in, Christopher,” pleaded Mrs. Korner, “please come in, and let me shut the door.” Mrs. Korner was the type of young lady fond of domineering with a not un-graceful hauteur over those accustomed to yield readily to her; it is a type that is easily frightened. “I wan' grilled kinneys-on-toast,” explained Mr. Korner, exchanging the knocker for the hat-stand, and wishing the next moment that he had not. “Don' let's 'avareytalk about it. Unnerstan'? I dowan' any talk about it.” “What on earth am I to do?” whispered the terrified Mrs. Korner to her bosom friend, “there isn't a kidney in the house.”