series of ingenious schemes for living in fatted idleness on other people's money. "Exactly," said Mrs. Pett, delighted at the suggestion. "The very thing." "Will you write and suggest it?" said Mr. Pett, basking in the sunshine of unwonted commendation. "What would be the use of writing? Eugenia would pay no attention. Besides, I could not say all I wished to in a letter. No, the only thing is to go over to England and see her. I shall speak very plainly to her. I shall point out what an advantage it will be to the boy to be in your office and to live here. . . ." Ann started. "You don't mean live here--in this house?" "Of course. There would be no sense in bringing the boy all the way over from England if he was to be allowed to run loose when he got here." Mr. Pett coughed deprecatingly. "I don't think that would be very pleasant for Ann, dear." "Why in the name of goodness should Ann object?" Ann moved towards the door. "Thank you for thinking of it, Uncle Peter. You're always a dear. But don't worry about me. Do just as you want to. In any case I'm quite certain that you won't be able to get him to come over here. You can see by the paper he's having far too good a time in London. You can call Jimmy Crockers from the vasty deep, but will they come when you call for them?" Mrs. Pett looked at the door as it closed behind her, then at her husband. "What do you mean, Peter, about Ann? Why wouldn't it be pleasant for her if this Crocker boy came to live with us?" Mr. Pett hesitated. "Well, it's like this, Nesta. I hope you won't tell her I told you. She's sensitive about it, poor girl. It all happened before you and I were married. Ann was much younger then. You know what schoolgirls are, kind of foolish and sentimental. It was my fault really, I ought to have . . ." "Good Heavens, Peter! What are you trying to tell me?" "She was only a child." Mrs. Pett rose in slow horror. "Peter! Tell me! Don't try to break it gently." "Ann wrote a book of poetry and I had it published for her."
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