son who calls on the President is in no hurry to leave, and the less important his errand the longer he takes to explain it. President Wilson listens patiently, although perhaps with little enjoyment, then he gets up and moves toward the door, and it must be a very obtuse person who cannot take the hint; and if something more than a hint is needed then the President shakes hands with him, but it is done graciously and in a way that is flattering to the person who without knowing it is being dismissed; as if the President was really pained to think that his visitor's engagements were so pressing that he had to rush away. Occasionally the President goes to the Secretary's office and meets people who have no business with him but want to go back home and say they were received by the President. They are sent away rejoicing with a handclasp and a word or two, the little ceremony is over in less than a minute and the President is back in his office.

The National Review.

Mr Wilson dispatches business with more celerity than either Mr. Roosevelt or Mr. Taft. The former knew how to economize time and could dispose of the casual caller in short order, but Mr. Roosevelt often became so interested in a visitor he forgot that others were still to come, and very often while he was being shaved in a small room attached to his private office, he would be talking vigorously to the last man on his appointment list of that morning. Mr. Taft was leisurely; he seldom cut short the flow of eloquence, and as a result his schedule was almost invariably far behind. The change, the freedom, the absence of informality is decidedly interesting to the student of manners and customs, and it will be curious to observe whether a Democratic President is really more "democratic" than a Republican or whether this is merely a passing phase or a permanent return to that "Jeffersonian simplicity" of which we have all heard so much. A. Maurice Low.

Washington.

CHAPTER X.

The long lofty drawing-room of a quiet London hotel located in a highly respectable though not ultra-fashionable quarter; the usual row of tall windows facing the street, veiled with imitation lace curtains; massive furniture, ugly, upholstered in stamped yellow and purple velvet, walls covered with an embossed paper, and a smell of new carpet everywhere.

The Fleetwoods were collected in a corner of this room by one of the windows. It was their first morning in England. Mr. Fleetwood had already

condemned the dinner last night and the breakfast they had just eaten. "Why did you listen to Fanny Bullen and come to this place, Emily?"

"Well, dear, it's clean and inexpensive, and we are such a large party to stay in one of the big hotels till we've found a house."

"That oughtn't to take long. There seems enough to let!"

He pointed out of the window to the houses opposite, tall, handsome houses, with balconies and porticoes, and enormous basements. Nearly all were disfigured by boards announcing that they

were convenient or commodious family residences, to be let either furnished or unfurnished.

"Of course there are plenty to let about here!" said Marion with scorn.

"Where are we going to take a house then?" asked her father helplessly.

a

"Well, anyway, I don't see that we need come out as far as this. It isn't as if it was to be for long, furnished house while we look about for what we want in the country isn't like settling down altogether in a more expensive neighborhood."

Marion was in high spirits, delighted to be once again in England. She wished to forget India and tiresome Tom Gray as soon as possible. It provoked her that she could not rid her memory of the sight of Tom Gray riding away through the mango trees, waving his shabby sola-topee, not at all the disappointed lover; in fact, his behavfor throughout Christmas week had been incomprehensible, and he had never taken leave to come and see them off!-though, as Marion had felt bound to argue with herself, why should he trouble to travel a day and a night to bid good-bye to a girl who did not want to marry him?

It was Marion who had arranged the family plans. They were to take a furnished house in London for six months, by which time they would have discovered a suitable place in the country-"not too large, with some fishing, and good rough shooting, in a sociable neighborhood within easy reach of London"! It would amuse Dad to run about house-hunting. He could take up golf, too; and somebody would be sure to offer him some fishing in the summer and some shooting in the autumn until they were settled. Meanwhile she and Isabel would make heaps of new friends through Aunt Beatrice, friends who would be useful

afterwards for visits to London and country house-parties, and help them to have a capital time now. .

Marion glanced into the gilt-framed mirror at the end of the room, and noted with satisfaction that she and Isabel were a couple of very good-looking young women, who should experience no difficulty whatever in enjoying themselves at home. For them there surely need be no cry of "hating England after India." Of course the question of new clothes must be considered at once. The whole party were very shabby-people always looked shabby when they first arrived from India, even if they saved up perfectly new clothes to land in-or even got them from home on purpose.

"Dad, you had better go to your tailor this morning," she suggested, "and the rest of us must get some clothes somewhere without delay."

"Hadn't we better wait and see what is being worn?" said Mrs. Fleetwood.

There was reluctance in her voice. She felt disinclined to hurry over anything. All her adult life she had been so accustomed to sufficient leisure. "And it looks rather cold out of doors!" She turned her gaze to the prepared but unlighted fire, and thought wistfully that perhaps a match-and one of those deep, stamped-velvet chairs that looked comfortable and those illustrated papers on the table-outside the April sunshine gleamed with watery effort, the chill sunshine of a backward spring that has something indifferent, almost heartless, in its pale light, exposing the dirt and destruction of winter, yet offering small amends. Evidently there was a high wind, for dust and grit and rubbish were being swirled along the street, people were clutching their hats, and turning now and again as though to avoid the gusts that pounced on them from the side streets.

"We can't go and see Aunt Beatrice as we are, Mother. You know she wrote that she would be back from the Riviera next week. It takes a long time to get clothes-and Fay wants a respectable coat and skirt and a new hat very badly."

Mrs. Fleetwood resigned herself. "Very well. Suppose Fay and I go to gether and you and Isabel are independent?" which was exactly what Marion desired, but had not liked to propose. "And you go your own way too, John? We can meet here for luncheon."

"I shall lunch at the Club," said Mr. Fleetwood. "I must have one good meal during the course of the day."

"Yes, dear," his wife agreed, with sympathy: "and we will get into a house with servants of our own as soon as possible. Certainly the food can be very indifferent in England, though you would imagine there was literally no excuse what with fish and vegetables, and things you can't get really good in India without endless trouble and expense-"

Presently they all left the hotel together, then separated to go their several ways. Mr. Fleetwood walked. In his tweed suit and Homburg hat set slightly to one side on his grey head he looked a distinguished, efficient personality. There was nothing in his appearance to suggest that he had done his life's work, nothing weary or worn out. His lean figure, hard brown face and firm step argued capacity for years to come of energy and work. less as he walked along in the wind and dust. Since last he was at home the traffic seemed to have increased a thousand-fold; the noise was bewildering; the crowd irritated him, hurrying, beedless people who jostled and pushed, people who muttered to themselves as they went along, lagging people who blocked the pavements without consid

He felt rather cheer

eration. And all the faces looked sad, preoccupied, or sulky, which, thought the ex-Commissioner, as he grabbed his hat, was not surprising in this infernal wind.

Then a horse fell down a few yards from him in the street, and a crowd collected from nowhere as if by magic, a crowd of unwholesome-looking men in dirty clothes all apparently of the same age and size and type, strangely alike, equally repulsive. He wondered vaguely what they would look like washed and trimmed and deprived of their filthy coverings. Surely it was chiefly their clothes that made them so disgusting? He thought of an Indian crowd, clothed in white or bright colors, picturesque, polite, quiet perhaps to apathy or noisy with a naive, child-like excitement. What a contrast to these rough, squalid human beings who gaped and pressed round the fallen animal!

He moved away, and an omnibus passed him packed with people who all turned their heads to look at the accident. He recognized the profile of a fellow-civilian, rather senior to himself, who had retired two or three years ago after holding a very high appointment. Grimly Mr. Fleetwood smiled. Logan was on a State elephant last time he saw him, going to open some show or other-now here he was in a 'bus, squeezed up in a row of very ordinary people, looking very ordinary himself, paying a penny for his fare! Mr. Fleetwood walked on, and all the time was heavy with a vague restlessness which he did not recognize as a tinge of nostalgia for his old life, for the power, the purpose, the sun, and the space. He imagined he was only annoyed with himself because he found the crossings dangerous and was forced to be very careful.

Marion and Isabel got into a taxi-cab and were whirled away rejoicing. Mrs. Fleetwood and Fay walked humbly to

the nearest Underground Railway station, bound for a shop familiar to Mrs. Fleetwood. When they met again at luncheon they were all tired.

"Shopping wears one out when one isn't used to it," Mrs. Fleetwood said wearily, "and the crowds of people make it worse, though I suppose the shops weren't really so full, and the want of air. Buying things for an hour or two is bad enough, so what must it be for those poor girls selling all day in that atmosphere!" She pushed away the plate of roast mutton before her. "I can't eat this," she said fretfully.

"I believe that German waiter has given us all nasty helpings because Dad will speak to him in Hindustani," said Fay.

Marion inquired what her mother had bought for herself. "Fay's coat and skirt look very nice," she added critically. "I wish I could wear readymade things-but I'm just over stock size, they tell me." All the same, she was complacent in a new and very becoming hat.

"Oh! my dear, I got nothing for myself," said Mrs. Fleetwood guiltily. "It was past one o'clock by the time Fay was finished. There seems to be no time in England between breakfast and luncheon. I really think I must lie down and have a rest this afternoon, though I suppose I ought to go and see your Aunt Charlotte at Norwood." Aunt Charlotte was Mrs. Fleetwood's sister, whose husband had retired from the Indian Army many years ago.

"Isabel and I will go, and Fay can come with us," suggested Marion. "Dad said he might get tickets for a theatre to-night, so you had much better keep quiet for the present. We saw two or three people we knew this morning," she went on. "Mrs. Dunn, in an electric brougham! She looked awfully smart. She didn't see us. And we met Mr. Forbes, who said he

was just going back to India stone broke after six months' leave. And Isabel said she was sure she saw the Taylors in Knightsbridge-they are at home now, I think."

"It's an odd thing that for about the first fortnight after arriving in England you seem to see more people you know in the streets than you ever do afterwards!" observed Mrs. Fleetwood. "I've always noticed it. It may be because at first one stares about and looks more at everybody. It seems so unnatural not to know every face you meet!"

"Well," said Isabel with her soft laugh, "the more friends we come across the better, so we must continue to stare about in case we shouldn't see them. Marion was quite ready to run after the Taylors and speak to them this morning, if we had been sure it was the Taylors, and in India she was always trying to avoid them!"

Marion flushed. "When we have been at home a little time we shan't be dependent on our Indian friends for society, I hope." She knew as she said it that it was an unworthy speech.

Mrs. Fleetwood looked up from a plate of unattractive rice pudding. "Marion," she said reproachfully, "I trust you will remember that our old Indian friends will always come before any new acquaintances at any rate with your father and myself. New acquaintances can so easily kill old friendships."

Marion said nothing. Her mother was seldom annoyed with her, and she was conscious herself that she deserved rebuke for her breach of good taste. She changed the conversation to the subject of houses.

"It's no use looking at small houses," she said. "We are too large a party. Dad will want a study, and Isabel and I ought to have some sort of muddle room. Then, you see, bed roomsyours and Dad's, and a dressing room,

two for Isabel and me, and something for Fay. And a spare room if George comes home from China or Walter from South Africa this summer. How many servants do you think we shall have to keep?"

"We must have a cook," said Isabel, "and I suppose a housemaid and a parlormaid?"

"And which of them will do the front door steps and the boots and knives and that sort of thing?" queried Mrs. Fleetwood with dismal recollections of harrowing difficulties over such matters when, at one time in England for the winter without her husband, she had taken a furnished London house.

They all looked at each other blankly. "Oh! probably one can purchase peace at the price of a daily slave for the other servants," said Marion hopefully. "Anyway, it's clear we can't fit into a small house, and I'm afraid big ones in a central position would be prohibitive as regards rent. We shall have to content ourselves with the best part of South Kensington after all, I expect."

"Well, we might do worse," was Isabel's opinion; "we should get big rooms, and gardens at the back, and be able to have all our boxes unpacked, and Dad would be much happier."

"Oh! yes," said Fay plaintively, sit ting trussed up in her new clothes, "do take a house with gardens at the back. When the weather gets warmer the streets will be even more awful than they are now. Just something with green and flowers and no people tearing along!"

There was a little choke in her voice, and she turned supplicating grey eyes towards her mother, who understood intuitively that her youngest girl's heart was sick for India, for the tranquillity and warmth, and the idle, sunlit spaces. Indeed, her own mind looked back with wistful regret to the

A strenuous week ensued, full of restless activity. Shopping, househunting, visits to and from old Indian friends encountered continually in the streets or shops-who were always invited to some meal at the Fleetwoods' hotel with apologies for the indifference of the catering. . . . Exhausting expeditions were made to see members of the family on both sides, mostly old and uninteresting relations living on pensions in the suburbs. Lady Landon was the Fleetwoods' only relative who actually possessed a house in London. That lady's return to the said house from the South of France was duly announced in The Morning Post, and on the Sunday following her arrival Mr. and Mrs. Fleetwood and Marion went there to luncheon. "Both of you come," Lady Landon wrote to her sister-in-law, "and bring one of the girls with you. Two o'clock luncheon."

Marion was the one to go as a matter of course, being the eldest. Fay and Isabel stayed behind.

"We couldn't expect her to ask the whole pack of us," said Marion.

"Why not?" argued her father, who was not deeply attached to his only sister, and always said she was a snob. "The house is quite big enough."

"Probably she has a luncheon party." "Oh! I hope not!" exclaimed Mrs. Fleetwood. She had never felt quite at ease in the presence of her fashionable sister-in-law, nor among what company she had met when at the house. She was conscious, too, that the toque and costume purchased during this turbulent first week at home was not of the style to excite Beatrice