And Aunt Charlotte would have proved a still more hopeless subject.

She had no head for mysticism, poor dear, and Austin often told her she was one of the greatest sceptics he had ever known.

"You believe in nothing but your dinner, your bank-book, and your Bible, auntie; I declare it's perfectly shocking," he said to her one day.

"And a very good creed too," she replied; "it wouldn't be a bad thing for you either, if you had a little more sound religion and practical common-sense." Just now it was the bank-book phase that was uppermost, and when a letter was brought in to her at breakfast-time next morning bearing the London postmark, she clutched it eagerly and opened it with evident anticipation.

But as she read the contents her brow clouded and her face fell.