"Oh, I just wondered," she said. "I mean"--she wrinkled her forehead in the effort to find words for her thoughts--"I'm wondering what everything means, and why we're all here, and what limpets are for, and, supposing there are people in Mars, if we're the real people whom the world was made for, or if _they_ are." She stopped and added, "One evening after dinner, when we get home, you must tell me all about _everything_." Celia has a beautiful idea that I can explain everything to her. I suppose I must have explained a stymie or a no-ball very cleverly once. "Well," I said, "I can tell you what limpets are for now. They're like sheep and cows and horses and pheasants and--and any other animal. They're just for _us_. At least so the wise people say." "But we don't eat limpets." "No, but they can amuse us. This one"--and with a sudden leap I was behind him as he dozed and I had dashed him forward another eighteenth of a millimetre--"this one has amused _me_." "Perhaps," said Celia thoughtfully and I don't think it was quite a nice thing for a young woman to say, "perhaps we're only meant to amuse the people in Mars." "Then," I said lazily, "let's hope they _are_ amused." * * * * * But that was nearly three weeks ago. Ten days later war was declared. Celia has said no more on the subject since her one afternoon's unrest, but she looks at me curiously sometimes, and I fear that the problem of life leaves her more puzzled than ever. At the risk of betraying myself to her as "quite an ordinary person after all" I confess that just at the moment it leaves me puzzled too. A. A. M. * * * * * THE EXTENUATING CIRCUMSTANCE. It was a seaside railway station, the arriving place of one of those health resorts where people flock in their millions to enjoy a little peace and quiet together. He, no doubt as a punishment for a misspent youth, was the station-master; she was one of those many kind ladies who come to meet their relatives and to make their arrival even more peaceful and quiet than such events usually are. "Was that the train from London?" she asked him. He temporized. "Have you asked a porter?" he enquired. She nodded. "And have you asked another porter?" She nodded again. "And then the foreman porter? And then a ticket collector? And then the inspector? And then a casual post-man? And then did you come across your original porter and try him again?" She admitted the list without a blush. "And now tell me all about your dear lost one--a weak, helpless man, no doubt?" "It was my husband," she explained. "A medium-sized man, in a macintosh and a straw hat, of course?" She acquiesced. "But none the less," continued the official, "a man of sterling worth? You do not think he can be in some lost property office _en route_, waiting to be called for?"