A glow emanated from Bessie's heart and took possession of her whole body. Bloomsbury, well, I never. Queer, and they lived quite near each other and never knew it. Funny how you could live in Bloomsbury for years and never know your nearest neighbor. It was an exclusive community. Mr. Willis, a little blond man with spectacles and a walrus moustache said that was the way life was, he'd found, and wasn't the music nice. That was the only thing they liked about Brighton—the band concerts. Indeed, they were about to cut short their visit and go back to London, where they felt more at home. They were going to stay two more days just to give the place a fair trial. It was Mr. Willis's first real holiday in fifteen years. Yes, he was a busy man. He had a linen shop and you could never trust people who worked for you.
Queer, said Bessie, she felt the same way about Brighton. She was going the day after tomorrow. Maybe they could go up together. How was she traveling? On the express, first class.
Mrs. Willis was afraid they couldn't travel like that. They weren't rich enough. When you've a shop you have to mind how you spend your money.
Perhaps then, suggested Bessie, they would travel with her, as her guests. She'd like it. She had plenty of money and she'd been hoping she'd meet someone to enjoy things with her. It wasn't any good trying to enjoy things alone. It would be a pleasure.
But Mr. Willis, who appeared to be cautious, said he'd have to think it over.
The band finished playing a potpourri from Ca-
