circles," said Mrs. Eggelby stiffly.

"No one who knows Hildegarde could possibly accuse
her of moving in a circle," said Clovis; "her view of

life seems to be a non-stop run with an inexhaustible
supply of petrol. If she can get some one else to pay

for the petrol so much the better. I don't mind
confessing to you that she has taught me more than any

other woman I can think of."
"What kind of knowledge?" demanded Mrs. Eggelby,

with the air a jury might collectively wear when finding
a verdict without leaving the box.

"Well, among other things, she's introduced me to at
least four different ways of cooking lobster," said

Clovis gratefully. "That, of course, wouldn't appeal to
you; people who abstain from the pleasures of the card-

table never really appreciate the finer possibilities of
the dining-table. I suppose their powers of enlightened

enjoyment get atrophied from disuse."
"An aunt of mine was very ill after eating a

lobster," said Mrs. Eggelby.
"I daresay, if we knew more of her history, we

should find out that she'd often been ill before eating
the lobster. Aren't you concealing the fact that she'd

had measles and influenza and nervousheadache and
hysteria, and other things that aunts do have, long

before she ate the lobster? Aunts that have never known
a day's illness are very rare; in fact, I don't

personally know of any. Of course if she ate it as a
child of two weeks old it might have been her first

illness - and her last. But if that was the case I think
you should have said so."

"I must be going," said Mrs. Eggelby, in a tone
which had been thoroughly sterilised of even perfunctory

regret.
Clovis rose with an air of graceful reluctance.

"I have so enjoyed our little talk about Eric," he
said; "I quite look forward to meeting him some day."

"Good-bye," said Mrs. Eggelby frostily; the
supplementary remark which she made at the back of her

throat was -
"I'll take care that you never shall!"

A HOLIDAY TASK
KENELM JERTON entered the dining-hall of the Golden

Galleon Hotel in the full crush of the luncheon hour.
Nearly every seat was occupied, and small additional

tables had been brought in, where floor space permitted,
to accommodate latecomers, with the result that many of

the tables were almost touching each other. Jerton was
beckoned by a waiter to the only vacant table that was

discernible, and took his seat with the uncomfortable and
wholly groundless idea that nearly every one in the room

was staring at him. He was a youngish man of ordinary
appearance, quiet of dress and unobtrusive of manner, and

he could never wholly rid himself of the idea that a
fierce light of public scrutiny beat on him as though he

had been a notability or a super-nut. After he had
ordered his lunch there came the unavoidable interval of

waiting, with nothing to do but to stare at the flower-
vase on his table and to be stared at (in imagination) by

several flappers, some maturer beings of the same sex,
and a satirical-looking Jew. In order to carry off the

situation with some appearance of unconcern he became
spuriously interested in the contents of the flower-vase.

"What is the name of these roses, d'you know?" he
asked the waiter. The waiter was ready at all times to

conceal his ignoranceconcerning items of the wine-list
or menu; he was franklyignorant as to the specific name

of the roses.
"AMY SYLVESTER PARTINGLON," said a voice at Jerton's

elbow.
The voice came from a pleasant-faced, well-dressed

young woman who was sitting at a table that almost
touched Jerton's. He thanked her hurriedly and nervously

for the information, and made some inconsequent remark
about the flowers.

"It is a curious thing," said the young woman, that,
"I should be able to tell you the name of those roses

without an effort of memory, because if you were to ask
me my name I should be utterly unable to give it to you."

Jerton had not harboured the least intention of
extending his thirst for name-labels to his neighbour.

After her rather remarkableannouncement, however, he was
obliged to say something in the way of polite inquiry.

"Yes," answered the lady, "I suppose it is a case of
partial loss of memory. I was in the train coming down

here; my ticket told me that I had come from Victoria and
was bound for this place. I had a couple of five-pound

notes and a sovereign on me, no visiting cards or any
other means of identification, and no idea as to who I

am. I can only hazily recollect that I have a title; I
am Lady Somebody - beyond that my mind is a blank."

"Hadn't you any luggage with you?" asked Jerton.
"That is what I didn't know. I knew the name of

this hotel and made up my mind to come here, and when the
hotel porter who meets the trains asked if I had any

luggage I had to invent a dressing-bag and dress-basket;
I could always pretend that they had gone astray. I gave

him the name of Smith, and presently he emerged from a
confused pile of luggage and passengers with a dressing-

bag and dress-basket labelled Kestrel-Smith. I had to
take them; I don't see what else I could have done."

Jerton said nothing, but he rather wondered what the
lawful owner of the baggage would do.

"Of course it was dreadful arriving at a strange
hotel with the name of Kestrel-Smith, but it would have

been worse to have arrived without luggage. Anyhow, I
hate causing trouble."

Jerton had visions of harassed railway officials and
distraught Kestrel-Smiths, but he made no attempt to

clothe his mental picture in words. The lady continued
her story.

"Naturally, none of my keys would fit the things,
but I told an intelligent page boy that I had lost my

key-ring, and he had the locks forced in a twinkling.
Rather too intelligent, that boy; he will probably end in

Dartmoor. The Kestrel-Smith toilet tools aren't up to
much, but they are better than nothing."

"If you feel sure that you have a title," said
Jerton, " why not get hold of a peerage and go right

through it?"
"I tried that. I skimmed through the list of the

House of Lords in 'Whitaker,' but a mere printed string
of names conveys awfully little to one, you know. If you

were an army officer and had lost your identity you might
pore over the Army List for months without finding out