and knobbly jaw-bones, and forms a striking background for the stout chin of the three-decker character. But put her in soft mauves and grays, with rich, old, champagne-colored lace at her throat, and you will forget she is old. Her younger women friends will be bound to say she dresses in much too juvenile a style and is aping to be young. There has scarcely been a woman in this world who has not said that some other woman dresses too young. It is a way she has."

Then Aunt Menelophe floated, in an atmosphere of soft, gray cloth and chinchilla and velvet, crowned by her lovely gray hair, to the waiting cab, and as she said "The station, driver," I felt proud to belong to her.

“What a time it must have taken you to learn all this, Aunt Menelophe!" I remarked.

"Yes," she replied, with a little sigh, "it has. I am sixty-five. And the trouble is that just as your accumulated experience and knowledge are becoming useful to you, somebody comes along and measures you for your coffin. Then there is a funeral, flowers on your grave for about five anniversaries, and then you are forgotten. Let me see, I didn't show you Stafford, did I? But there is nothing to show. Stafford is noted for boots, and you wouldn't want to see boots, would you? And I fancy Izaak Walton did something here once, but I can't remember what it was till we have had some tea. I ordered tea to be ready at the works; at least, I told Butterby to order it. I arranged with a confectioner always to send in tea to the office when I

am there. You see," she went on, "Butterby is supposed to explain things to visitors, but he never does. In fact, he generally wanders off when we are about half-way through, and so I have to instruct them in the making of china, and must have tea to brace me up. What I don't know about the manufacture I make up, and it's most interesting to see their faces. The women always sigh over the dippers. They think it is the right and humane thing to do. They have read somewhere that a dipper's work is unhealthy and dangerous, and even shortens life; and they always seem to be under the impression that a dipper will turn into a corpse before their eyes. They say sympathetic things and talk of the dangers of glass-blowing and match-making all in the same breath. And when I say, 'My dear ladies, if they die it is generally their own faults, through not observing the precautions laid down for them,' they think I am very heartless and a brute. Really, I am awfully sorry for some of the working people of England-not so much for the men as for the women. What a grind some of the women have! One round of babies and incessant hard work which never ends. A man comes in at the end of the day; he is tired, but his work is finished. The wife is tired, too, only more so; but she is not finished, and never will be. No wonder women take to drink. I should too-I should soak in it!"

As Aunt Menelophe gives vent to this awful statement her face is wrinkled up in the kindest, sweetest

smile imaginable, and one could picture her doing many kind deeds for those women and babies.

"Dear me," she cried as we were driving from the station to the works, "we nearly ran over Butterby. That boy gives me such shocks. He caused me to break one of the old Wedgwood cups one day by suddenly grabbing at my arm with great violence, because he imagined there was some sort of rare butterfly seated on my sleeve. It turned out to be a bit of silk. I was very angry, and ordered some stronger glasses for him. I wonder what he is doing loitering in the road? Probably in search of some insect. And I told him we should be there at four. Perhaps he has been called out on some special business, and will turn up later."

"He did not look like business," I ventured.

66

'No," snapped Aunt Menelophe, “he looked like a tramp who is afraid he may find work." Then she closed her lips tightly and stared at the landscape, which consisted of chimneys, furnaces, and dirt.

When we arrived at the works there was no Butterby and no tea. I looked fearfully at Aunt Menelophe, and at the sight of her the small clerk in the office shrivelled up.

"Stop the cab," she said with composure, and the clerk and I collided with violence at the door and yelled "Hi!" The cab "hied," and we drove home.

"I will try and get up sufficient energy to attack; them another day," she said when we were seated in

the morning-room waiting for tea. "In the mean time I will lend you a book on the manufacture of Staffordshire china, and Josiah Wedgwood. It will teach you a good deal, and should we never get to the works it won't matter so much. I never talked so much in my life before four o'clock, and I am perfectly exhausted." Then she fell back in her armchair and lay with closed eyes till James appeared with the tea.

CHAPTER VIII

A Dinner Party, Followed by My Seeing the Ghost

L

AST evening Aunt Menelophe gave a dinner party,

and at two o'clock in the morning I saw the

ghost. One on the top of the other has been too much for me, for I feel a perfect wreck, and have great, black rims under my eyes. When Parkins brought me my morning tea I asked her for some soda-water instead. She seemed very surprised, and I said

"Parkins, you would want soda-water if you had a thirst like mine. My mouth feels like a sawdust bin."

At breakfast, after we had finished discussing the ghost and the dinner, I remarked, tentatively, that I had felt very plain the previous evening, and that I did not think the new gown suited me. I looked interrogatively at Aunt Menelophe.

"You look plainer this morning," she said.

It was not what I had expected, and I felt annoyed. How could any one look their best after such an awful night and such a shock to the system?

"You had better go to your room and lie down," Aunt Menelophe remarked after lunch, "and I will send up your tea."