fare and at the notion counter. It was another mark of feminine inconsistency that she manifested no evidence of being amused. Even I, victim of the untoward circumstances as I was, could perceive in these episodes elements distinctly humourous, but Miss Berrith appeared to be less enlivened than depressed by my recital. At the end, she looked up at me in a curious manner which was almost compassionate.
“I am very sorry,” she said, again.
“Oh, it was nothing,” I answered cheerfully. “They were only little things.”
“But, in a man’s home-life.” said she, “it is the little things that count — both ways.”
Then Arbuthnot engaged her attention, and, as Mr. Berrith was gobbling the remainder of his cheese and biscuit at a rate which suggested coaling a ship at sea, I had a moment in which to reflect upon her words. It was with considerable reluctance that I allowed my candour to carry me to the point
