breakfast-table was shut away from the mean little things.... Are you coming to church Miriam?--Miriam looked across the doomed breakfast-table and met the watchful eyes. Behind Florrie very upright in her good, once best stuff dress, two years old in its features and methodically arrived at morning wear, the fire still blazed its extravagant welcome, the first of Christmas morning was still in the room. When they had all busied themselves and gone, it would be gone. She glanced about to see that everyone had finished and put her elbows on the table.--_Well_ she said abundantly. There was an expectant relaxing of attitudes--I should _like_ to go very much. _But_--Grace fidgeting her brooch had flung her unrestrained burning affectionate glance--when I saw Mr. La Trobe climbing into the pulpit--Florrie's eyes were downcast and Mrs. Philps was blowing her nose her eyes gazing wanly out above her handkerchief towards the little curtained bow-window--Miriam dimpled and glanced sideways at Grace catching her shy waiting eyes--I should stand up on my seat ... give one loud shriek--the three laughters broke forth together--and fall gasping to the ground----Then you'd certainly better not go chuckled Florrie amidst the general wiping away of tears----I saw the Miss Pernes at Strudwick's on Friday; Miss Perne and Miss Jenny----oh, did you responded Miriam hurriedly. The room lost something of its completeness. There was a coming and a going, the pressing grey of an outside world--How are they?----They seemed very well--They don't seem to change--Oh; I'm so glad--They asked for you--_Oh_----I didn't say we were expecting you--_Oh_, it's such an age----We always say you're very busy and hard-worked smiled Grace--Yes, that's it....--You didn't go often even when Miss Haddie was alive--No; she was awfully good; she used to come down and see me in the west-end when I first came to town.--How they like the west-end--Aunt, I don't blame them.--She used to write to you a lot didn't she Miriam?--She used to come and talk to me in a tea-shop at six-fifteen ... yes she wrote regularly said Miriam irritably--You were awfully fond of Miss Haddie weren't you?--Miriam peered into space struggling with a tangle of statements. Her mind leapt from incident to incident weaving all into a general impression--so strong and clear that it gave a sort of desperation to her painful consciousness that nothing she saw and felt was visible to the three pairs of differently watchful eyes. Poured chaotically out it would sound to them like the ravings of insanity. All contradictory, up and down backwards and forwards, all true. The things they would grasp here and there would misrepresent herself and the whole picture. Why would people insist upon talking about things--when nothing can ever be communicated.... She felt angrily about in the expectant stillness. She could see their minds so clearly; why wouldn't they just look and see hers instead of waiting for