Aunt Lavvy walked along the pleasant half-country road towards the shops of Buckler’s Cross. And, passing the branch of Platt’s Bank, dropped in, and told the clerk, leaning politely over the polished counter, that she had, after all, been the thief of that pound-note which he had missed on Saturday morning. She used the word “thief” whimsically, and the young man’s amusement proved to her that certainly her name had not suffered from the incident. “At the bottom of my bag. They weren’t pinned together, and it must have been the outside one. I collect so many bills and papers and letters loose in my bag--you men will always blame me for that....” She dimpled at the bank-clerk, and handed him back the pound. And he thought what a delightful little old lady she was, and wished his mother, a large, gaunt and incredulous woman, were more in that style. He apologized for his own carelessness, and hoped she would not punish them by depositing elsewhere. They parted in the attitudes of a Marcus Stone picture. Then Aunt Lavvy went on into the town, and arranged with the local decorators to paper her sitting-room at once, a deep cream with a wistaria frieze. Luckily, they were able to show her a sample of the latter in stock; but for her cretonne and carpet she knew she would have to take a day in London. Impulsively, she determined to go that very afternoon. Mr. Maxwell and Stanley were, of course, at business. They were still resenting each other when they left the house; but before they reached the station, they had realized the flatness of disputing over a bank-clerk who, as far as the moral point at issue was concerned, no longer existed. But with regard to Mr. Maxwell’s taunt that Stanley, if he wanted his own opinions, ought also to maintain his wife and child in his own home--Stanley left private injunctions with Grace ... and she, too, was out most of the day. She did not tell Miss Roberts where, as she was afraid she had rather let herself go too much to poor Gums the last day or two, and it was not quite a nice thing to do, to grumble about your parents to the governess in their employ. It was awfully sweet of Aunt Lavvy to put things right with the Bank, without involving Hal. And distinctly clever of Ursula, too, to think of offering her the room. It looked as though Ursula were going to be unselfish, “and that would be so nice for Mother when Nina marries, and I....” Miss Roberts and Nurse resumed a courteous recognition of each other’s claim to the nursery-schoolroom. Nurse said she was sorry if she’d spoken too plain, and Miss Roberts understood that it _was_ very irritating to come in with the babies and find the only table strong enough for the sewing-machine, littered up with lesson-books. Nina, when they were dressing the next morning, asked Ursula suddenly and fiercely: “What did you expect to get out of it?” “Out of what?” Ursula, with the comb, swept her long hair to a veil in front of her face.