CHAPTER XX.

THE MANNERS OF A MISTRESS.

The little excitement in the street centred round the Marvels’ house. Two policemen were standing at its door, and an inspector with his note-book was just inside talking to somebody out of sight.

“I wonder if it is anything wrong about Jane Smith,” remarked Lucy.

“Perhaps the tipsy young carpenter has turned up there at last,” said Tom. While they watched, Lucy and Miss Latimer told Mr. Somerset the story of their midnight alarm.

“They’re all looking across here! They are coming over,” cried Hugh. He was right. In a moment a heavy official knock sounded on the hall door.

“I shall answer it myself,” said Lucy. “Clementina is busy, and, besides, the sight of all these legal functionaries would terrify her out of her wits.”

The others all followed in her train, Hugh clinging to his mother’s skirts.

“There has been something wrong over at Number 14, ma’am,” the policeman explained. “Their servant has run away with some property. We understand she was in your service before she entered Mrs. Marvel’s, and we want you to kindly answer a few questions about her—if you can.”

“I will tell you all I can,” returned Lucy.

“Thank you, ma’am. Was the girl Jane Smith long in your service?”

Lucy considered. “Only for about five months,” she said, “a little more I think.”

He made a note in his book.

“Where did you get her from, ma’am? Excuse me.”

“I got her through a registry office,” Lucy replied, naming it.

“Took her in a hurry, without any references perhaps, ma’am,” observed the inspector.

“Certainly not,” answered Lucy. “I went to her last employer,” and Lucy furnished her name and address. The man wrote them down.

“Character good then, I suppose?” was the next remark.

“The character was satisfactory, or I should not have taken her,” said Lucy.

“Can you be sure you got the girl whose character you received?” he asked. “You know there is such a thing as personation; and the name is a common one.”

“There is no mistake on that score,” Lucy replied. “Jane Smith herself opened the door to me when I went to inquire for her character.”

The man was writing again. “And may I ask why you parted from her?” he went on.

“She gave me notice herself because she knew she had displeased me. I had allowed her to receive a weekly visit from the young man to whom she was engaged, and then, without the least interval, or any intimation given to me, the man was changed!” Lucy was almost startled by the unshrinking directness of her words.

There was a little movement between the two policemen on the doorstep, and a sort of ejaculation from Tom in the rear. Lucy, looking aside from her questioner, recognised in one of his subordinates the policeman who had found Jane’s discarded lover in her area. He made a smiling salute, and said something in a low tone to his superior.

“I understand one of these men has since been found in your area in the night?” the inspector inquired.

“Yes,” said Lucy, “your man found him and removed him.”

“Have you any reason to think he was there for any nefarious purpose?” asked the inspector.

“No; he was quite tipsy,” said Lucy. “He did not know what he was doing. I thought it was only a mistake.”

“Are you sure he was quite tipsy?” urged the inspector.

“Your man and my friend said so, and I could see he could scarcely walk,” Lucy answered. “It was at my request only that your man did not take him in charge. I thought he was in trouble through being deserted by this girl.”

“There’s often more than meets the eye at the bottom of these here love affairs and troubles,” said the unromantic inspector; “it might have done that youth and other folks too some good to have had it all out in court. But there’s no saying. Even there such things can’t be always looked into as deep as they should be.”

He wrote in his book. His next question was—

“Did you tell Mrs. Marvel why you had been dissatisfied with this girl?”

“She never asked me,” answered Lucy. “She sought no character from me.”

The inspector half smiled and gave his head a knowing little wag. He closed his book. “Thank you, ma’am. That’s all we need ask now. If any other point arises on which we think you may throw light, you’ll excuse our coming to you. We’re sorry to have had to disturb you, especially to-day.”

“You are only doing your duty,” said Lucy. “Good morning.” As she turned back into her little hall—Clementina’s rueful countenance, gleaming pale in the background—Lucy thought that this was for her a very mild disturbance indeed, as compared with the wreckage of last Christmas Day. It might indeed be otherwise with the Marvels? Yet Lucy could not avoid the reflection that they had, in a manner, brought this trouble on themselves.

The little dinner-party passed off very pleasantly. Clementina had done her part admirably, and everybody was resolutely talkative and bright. Even Lucy brought herself to say that perhaps it might be better still if Charlie arrived for New Year’s Day, since that would be an inauguration of a new order of things, while, socially considered, Christmas is rather a festival of the past.

After dinner in the little drawing-room, Hugh was the centre of all attention, as children always are at Christmas time. Games of the kind in which he could take largest share were the order of the day. In one of these Tom Black was dismissed from the apartment to wait outside till those within should summon him to rack his brains to discover “what their thought was like.” When they shut him out, they left him planted on a little table, which stood on the only half-lit landing. But when they opened the door to call him, he was not there!

“I believe he is so honest that he feared he might catch what we were saying, and he has gone down to his own room,” said Lucy. “Tom!” she cried. But as she did so she heard a sound of voices in the hall. Tom was there and Clementina was talking to him.

He answered, “Coming, coming!” and came running up. He dashed into the game with great spirit, but nevertheless seemed a little absent-minded, and proved so dense that he had to be told what he ought to have guessed, which was very unusual with Tom. After that, Lucy suggested that they would not begin another game till they had had tea, which was just coming in. The little service stood in readiness. Clementina had only to carry up the kettle and the tea-cakes. In this interval, Tom suddenly proposed to Mr. Somerset that they should take a few minutes’ turn in the street. “For a breath of fresh air,” he said.

The gentlemen did not stay out for quite half an hour. Hugh peeping from the window announced that he saw them walking up and down, talking. They nodded up to him, and they came in a few minutes afterwards. Lucy served them with cups of tea, and then all again went merrily till it was time for Lucy to take Hugh off to bed. She did not require to apologise to these friends for leaving them together while she discharged her happy maternal duty.

Mr. Somerset stood on the middle of the rug with his back to the fire. Miss Latimer settled herself in the easy-chair to resume the knitting which she had thrown down during the games.

“Miss Latimer,” said Mr. Somerset rather abruptly, “I don’t think you are a nervous woman.”

The old lady laughed, deftly shifting her needles.

“I don’t think so,” she answered.

“Because if we are to believe what Clementina says, some evil attention is being directed to this house, which can have no other aim but to annoy and terrify, perhaps with hope of robbery at last,” he explained.

Miss Latimer was all interest.

“The servant says,” pursued Mr. Somerset, “that every morning, early, for more than a week past there have been heavy blows on the area door. They have always been struck while she was out of sight in the back kitchen. She has hastened to respond to them, but by the time she reached the door nobody was there. She says that for the first day or two, she thought that whoever had knocked must have hurried away, though she could not understand how they could get up the area steps so quickly. Afterwards she says she lingered longer in the front kitchen, so as to be there when the knocks came. But they never came while she was there—only at the moment when she turned her back. Next she ran to the window so quickly that she is sure there was no time for anybody to get away. Yet nobody was there.”

“Ran to the window!” echoed Miss Latimer. “Why didn’t she go to the door?”

“She says she was frightened,” answered Mr. Somerset.

“Does the window command every corner of the area?” asked the old lady. “Possibly some mischievous boy gave the knock and then stood back against the wall.”

“That’s what I said,” remarked Tom Black, “but Clementina made me go down into the kitchen and put my head where she said she had put hers, pressed against the window, and certainly nobody—not even a cat—could have been in the area without my seeing them.”

“Why didn’t Clementina tell us about this before?” asked Miss Latimer. “Why did she keep it back to tell us to-day?”

“She says she didn’t want to worry her mistress,” said Tom. “But after hearing what has gone wrong at Mr. Marvel’s house, and seeing the policemen come here making inquiries, she thought it might be best for some of us to know it at once. So when she saw me standing on the staircase, she took the opportunity of calling me downstairs and telling me the whole thing.”

“Very considerate indeed,” observed Miss Latimer. “So many servants take delight in rushing forward with bad news or worries. I was afraid the policemen’s visit alone would prove too much for Clementina. I do hope she won’t get flurried into leaving—for she seems a treasure in so many ways. Was she much disturbed?”

“No,” said Tom reflectively. “No, she took it quite sensibly.”

“Perhaps, as you say she is a superstitious woman, she accepts the mysterious as a natural factor in ordinary existence,” observed Mr. Somerset.

Tom was still meditative.

“Now I come to think of it,” he said, “there was something funny happened two or three weeks ago, though we didn’t think much of it at the time. Do you remember the blank letter, Miss Latimer?”

“Yes, indeed,” cried the old lady. “Mrs. Challoner received a very ill-written envelope, which we thought must contain a bill due to a bricklayer who had been lately employed. But there was nothing in the envelope save a sheet of blank paper. Still we thought the man must have put this in by mistake, till he presented his bill in person a few days afterwards, and then Lucy asked him if he had sent it in before, and he said no, he had made it up only that morning.”

“Is Mrs. Challoner to hear about these knocks?” asked Tom.

“Why not?” said Miss Latimer. “It was good of Clementina to keep silence about what she thought might annoy her mistress. But Lucy would not feel any worry over such a thing as this.”

“You see,” said Tom speaking with bated breath, “Clementina said now this had come out about the Marvels’ servant, it might be to do with them. But at first she had thought that it might be a sign that—that—something had happened to Mr. Challoner, and that was why she wouldn’t speak!”

“Oh, nonsense,” returned Miss Latimer. “We must not let her suggest this idea to Lucy—not till Charlie is here safe and sound. But we won’t have any mysteries or keepings back. A sensitive nature suffers more from those than from the sternest revelation. Even when there’s real trouble in question and somebody thinks to hide it out of kindness, he has to hide his true self at the same time, and that generally gives greater pain than anything else could.”

“We’ll tell Mrs. Challoner all about it the minute she comes back,” decided Mr. Somerset.

“That’s right,” said Miss Latimer. “If one’s bothers reach one through friendly hands two-thirds of their poison is drained off.”

“I say,” remarked Tom, “I don’t believe the dining-room waste-paper basket has been emptied lately. This morning I noticed it was very full. I shouldn’t wonder if the envelope in which that blank sheet came is still there. I’ll go down and look for it.”

Tom was still prosecuting this search when Lucy came back to the drawing-room. She heard the story of the knocks with interest rather than with alarm, and was rather inclined to think they might be due to Clementina’s “nerves.” When Tom appeared with the torn envelope they all discussed it quite cheerily, speculating whether the handwriting was that of a man or a woman. Lucy thought it was that of a man—possibly a man accustomed to use clumsier tools than a pen. She clung to her original suspicion of the tipsy young carpenter. Miss Latimer declared that one or two of the characters looked of feminine construction, while Mr. Somerset remarked that some of them seemed to him to be far too well formed to be in natural keeping with the wild distortion of the rest.

This envelope having been thus accidentally preserved, it was now decided, in view of the later developments, that it should be kept for a while longer. It was given into Tom’s charge, and he locked it away in his desk. Mr. Somerset advised that if the inspector should pay Mrs. Challoner another visit over the Jane-Smith-and-Marvel matter, she might do well to mention to him this strange blank missive and the mysterious knocks.

Also, before he went away, he and Mrs. Challoner together had a little conference with Clementina. They told her that there was nothing to be alarmed about, and while thanking her for her original consideration in the matter of the uncanny knocks, they urged her henceforth to tell promptly of any happening which might strike her as peculiar.

“It’s well I’m not a silly girl,” was Clementina’s remark. “I don’t like to be mixed up in strange ongoings, nor to see policemen coming to the door of the house where one lives. But what one’s born to, that one must go through. We all have our enemies, and if they don’t hurt us in one way, they will in another. I reckon those knocks ain’t meant to call for Clementina Gillespie.” There she paused, but glancing at Mr. Somerset, she read warning in his eye, and said no more.

The next morning brought two events. The first was an intimation by post of Mr. Bray’s death at Bath. The second was a call from Mrs. Marvel, who sent up her card, with an apology for intruding on her neighbour at an unconventionally early hour.

“Those who won’t make inquiries at the right season, naturally make them at last at the wrong time!” observed Tom.

“Yes,” said Miss Latimer, “as Goethe says—

“‘Of little things who trouble makes For lesser things he trouble takes.’”

Lucy knew Mrs. Marvel by sight, prim and stately. But this morning she was a very perturbed and dishevelled lady. She had called to thank Lucy for having been interviewed on her behalf by the policemen.

“So kind of you, Mrs. Challoner. After I had sent them across, it occurred to me how rude and selfish it was—on Christmas Day too! But really you will pardon me, considering the state I was in. Imagine our coming home from church to find the house not only deserted, but with all the silver I had put out for the Christmas feast carried off, with a salver which Mr. Marvel got as a testimonial, and the very brooches which we had left sticking in our pin-cushions! After that, what did it matter that not only was no dinner prepared, but the turkey itself was taken away. And we had friends coming, among them the gentleman who is engaged to our youngest daughter.”

“It was very trying indeed,” said Lucy gently. “I have never suffered quite so bitterly, but I have suffered enough to know how it must have felt.”

“I suppose you can’t give us any other clues about the wretched girl,” panted Mrs. Marvel. “The police have already been to her former mistress’s house, and it is empty. It is said the people are gone abroad. You didn’t know anything of this girl’s family, did you?”

“She said she came from the country. She said her father had been a blacksmith. She named the village to me, but I own it escapes my mind just now,” Lucy admitted.

“Of course, one can’t be expected to burden one’s mind with such things,” said Mrs. Marvel.

“If she had stayed with me, I meant to have given her a summer holiday to visit her friends, and then I should have heard more about them,” Lucy remarked. “It is not easy to press questions without grounds. One has to rest satisfied at first with getting a character.” She paused rather abruptly, seeing that her remarks seemed to reflect on her visitor. But Mrs. Marvel was undisturbed by them.

“You didn’t detect her in any dishonesty while she was with you?” she asked.

“No, not the slightest,” said Lucy.

Mrs. Marvel looked compassionately at her hostess. “Ah, poor dear,” she said, “you are young—and—and busy. I daresay she plucked you a little without your noticing it.”

“She may have done so,” said Lucy quietly; “I do not claim notability as a housewife. But I have my household lists, and when I went over them before she left, everything was right.”

“We hear that it is true she did dismiss herself,” Mrs. Marvel went on. “Did you really feel enough dissatisfaction and distrust to have dismissed her if she had not done so?”

“Certainly,” Lucy answered, “unless she could have given a full and satisfactory explanation—which I cannot imagine—of how, when I had given her permission to receive her sweetheart, I was left to find out that another man had suddenly appeared in his stead.”

“I doubt if it’s wise to let these girls’ sweethearts come near one’s house,” remarked Mrs. Marvel. “I never allow it. I never permit any visits but from relations.”

“I saw Jane Smith’s second lover go down your area steps many times,” said Lucy.

“I know he did. She told us he was her uncle, lately widowed, and that he came every week to bring and take away the mending she did for him.”

Lucy could not wholly restrain a smile as she thought of the shouts of laughter which announced this bereaved “relative’s” earliest appearances in her own kitchen.

“Now, my dear Mrs. Challoner,” said Mrs. Marvel, in her most unctuous manner, “don’t think I want to reproach you in the least; but when you felt this girl to be so untrustworthy, and when you saw her in a neighbour’s service, don’t you think you would have shown a neighbourly and Christian spirit if you had dropped us a word of warning about her?”

This was a little too much! Lucy rose and towered over her seated visitor.

“No, Mrs. Marvel,” she said, “certainly not. Any such interference of mine would have been most gratuitous and uncharitable. I should have deserved the soundest snub you could have given me. I had been the girl’s employer, and you had not chosen to use the proper method of communicating with me about her. That meant either that you did not value my opinion in the least, or that you had some other reason for your action. You might, for all I knew, have received a full confession from Jane Smith, and so have determined to give her another chance. Even then, of course, it would have been right and best for you to communicate with me. If I had retained her in my service after I distrusted her, and had sent her to your house on messages, and then she had robbed you, you might have good reason to complain. But certainty not now. You knew she had left my service and you never cared to inquire why or how!”

“She said she had dismissed herself, and you own that was true,” said Mrs. Marvel, also rising, and allowing the vinegar of her nature to overcome the oil in her tones. “And she said she had done so because she wanted to live where the mistress did not have to go out to work, but was able to pay proper attention to her housekeeping. That seemed reasonable enough. She said she wanted to get on, and girls can’t get on under such circumstances.”

Lucy walked to the door and opened it. Before her eyes, in that brief journey, there floated a phantasmagoria of the Marvel women daily starting for their afternoon calls, of the perpetual evening outings of the whole family, of their bed-chamber curtains often undrawn till near noon! And yet these women had their stone ready to fling at her, because in the power of all the womanliness in her, her duties had swerved aside from the narrower groove. But she commanded herself to perfection!

“I think I have told you all I can,” she said. “If the inspector finds any other questions, I will do my best to answer them. This is my holiday time, and from what you say, Mrs. Marvel, I am sure you realise how much I must appreciate holidays. Good morning.”

She had rebuked the vulgar woman without losing either dignity or temper. Yet she went back pale and trembling to Miss Latimer. Every glimpse of the world’s falseness and cruelty is itself cruel!

(_To be continued._)

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

STUDY AND STUDIO.

FRENCH CANADIAN.—A year’s board at Leipsic and tuition at the Leipsic Conservatorium will cost you, with due economy, from 1350 to 1800 marks (£67 10s. to £90). If you write “An das Directorium des Königl; Conservatoriums der Musik, Leipsic, Germany,” you will receive a small pamphlet in English, containing the most explicit details.

GERTRUDE A. SIMPSON.—November 21st, 1881, was a Monday. Many thanks for your kind letter of praise. We insert your request.

LONELY NELL.—You might try to improve your writing and spelling, by carefully, each day, copying out some extract from a book. We are asking for a correspondent for you.

HERO.—Only two out of your six verses rhyme properly. You would not be able to write for publication. A knowledge of the laws of verse-making is required before attempting metrical composition.

NEW QUAY.—1. The author, “Bethmont,” is quite unknown to us. Perhaps the name is a fictitious one, as you say it occurs in a story.—2. You must remember that a popular author is usually a very busy person and has no leisure to answer miscellaneous questions, presumptuous or not, that readers may be disposed to ask about the creatures of his imagination. The failure to answer such a letter as you describe would not imply any annoyance. Well-drawn characters are usually based on some living original, with an admixture of fiction thrown in.

MAGGIE.—The only way to “get a fairy story accepted by a children’s magazine” is to send the MS. to the editor of any magazine for which it seems suitable, with a letter, and stamps for its return if rejected. You must choose your own magazine. Should it be accepted, the editor will pay you at the usual rate, but we must warn you against probable disappointment.

VIOLET.—Your quotation is not quite correctly given.

“And I smiled to think God’s goodness flowed around our incompleteness, Round our restlessness, His rest,”

will be found in the “Rhyme of the Duchess May,” by Mrs. Browning.

SOUVENIR.—1. Write on foolscap on one side of the page only.—2. It is quite impossible for us to mention any publisher who would take your story, which we have never seen. Send it to any magazine for which you think it suitable, and observe our reply to “Maggie” above.

EMMA BELUSCO (Austria).—We applaud your perseverance, but we are afraid you could not hope to write for an English paper. There are un-English expressions in your interesting sketch, _e.g._, “we resolved upon looking for it,” instead of “to look”; “explanation to,” instead of “explanation of,” and so forth. We have our own staff of experienced writers, and never insert anything on the conditions you name; but we thank you for sending us the translated story of the poor forsaken cats.

MISS MARTIN.—We keep no register of addresses, so can only publish your request for NINETTE’S in “International Correspondence.” Note also that we undertake no communication by post (_vide_ Rules).

DAISY.—Weakness of the third finger is very usual. You should place your fingers and thumb on five consecutive white keys, and, keeping the thumb, first, second, and fourth finger down, repeatedly strike the note that is under the third finger. If this monotonous exercise is persevered in, the third finger will gain strength. We can never answer a question very soon, as we go to press long before the magazine reaches your hands.

SAPPHO.—Certainly, with all the distinctions and acquirements you name, you ought to be able to find pupils for painting and music in some town of Devonshire or Cornwall; but it is a great risk to settle down at random, and we cannot specify any one place where you would succeed. You might write for advice to the Société des Professeurs de Français en Angleterre, 20, Bedford Street, Strand, London, W.C. Would you not like to apply for an English correspondent in one of the counties named? She might tell you something that would be of use.

PENICUIK.—We do not think that the friend you mention is identical with the girl who wrote to us as her signature was “Violet M.” only, not V. M. Foster as you suppose; but if “Violet M.” was ever at school in Edinburgh, she may send us her address for you to see.

OUR OPEN LETTER BOX.

LUCY A. WHITE informs E. M. W. that the lines she desires to find are quoted in Miller’s _Making the Most of Life_, in the chapter “Doing all for Christ.” She does not, however, refer the quotation to its author.

MISS (or MRS.) E. J. HARRIS, Ferncot, Shrewsbury Road, Redhill, kindly sends for GOWAN a copy of a poem by Marianne Farningham, “Maggie Ace and her Sister.” From its tenor, this is apparently the poem inquired for under the title, “The Women of Mumbles Head.” We regret that our rules do not allow us to forward MSS.

BESSIE can have the words and music, in good condition, of “You’ll never miss the water till the well runs dry” (published at 3s.), by sending 6d. to T. E. Gibson, 20, St. Stephen’s Road, West Bowling, Bradford, Yorks.

R. N. S. sends a poem, asking the author, and where it may be found. We can only quote one verse—

“In the hush of a tender twilight, when shadows veiled the land, An angel came to the quiet earth with a white rose in his hand; And the stars came out to listen, as the angel floated by, For he sang a song so gently, that it felt like a lullaby.”

DIDO will be glad if any of the readers of THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER can kindly inform her in which collections she can find the following poems, or any others suitable to recite at penny readings:—“Not in the Programme,” “Burglar Bill,” “The Wreck of the _Puffin_.”

BLUEBELL wishes to discover two recitations and the names of their authors:—“The Door of the Lips,” “A Ballad of Saint Swithin’s Day.”

INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE.

MISS ALICE LEEDS, St. George, Bristol, would like to correspond with a Scotch or Irish girl of about the same age as herself (20). She would also like a French correspondent.

MISS L. WATKINS, Llwyncrwn, Crickhowell, Breconshire, offers to correspond with “NELLIE,” and says, “Perhaps she would like to know something of farm life.” MARY L. KING, Thornhill Farm, Attleboro’, Nuneaton, aged 17½ years (who works with her hands), asks also if NELLIE would like to write to her.

“HAREBELL,” Oak Villa, Whickham, Newcastle-on-Tyne, would like to correspond with a well-educated French girl of about her own age (20), with a view to mutual improvement, each to write in her own language.

“LONELY NELL,” who works for her living and has few friends, would like to correspond with an American girl of her own age (21).

GERTRUDE A. SIMPSON, 22, Portland Street, Aberdeen, Scotland, wishes for a French correspondent—“a lively girl about seventeen.”

MISS DE SACREBOURSE D’AUDEVILLE, Chantilly (Oise), France, wishes to correspond with an Italian girl, either in French or in English. She would with pleasure correct and return the letters if desired, and hopes some Italian reader of THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER will write to her.

Will “NINETTE,” Budapesth, send her address again to MISS MARTIN, The Hawthorns, Sandyway, who has lost it.

F. J. A. HALL, Sheriff’s Office, Peterboro’, Canada, a boy, wants some brother of “our girls” abroad, to correspond with the intention of exchanging postage stamps of various countries for those of Canada. In future, such queries must be sent to _The Boy’s Own Paper_.

MAY L. KLAJE, 138, Brooke Road, Stoke Newington, London, N., a shorthand typist, interested in languages and drawing, and fond of walking, also a stamp-collector, would like, as correspondent, a well-educated Swiss-German or German girl of about nineteen years of age, who is earning her own living. She proposes that each writes to the other in German and English alternately, at the same time noting any errors made in previous letters.

M. JOSEFA BRAGE, Puerto de la Cruz, No. 35, Calle de Sol, Teneriffe, a Spanish girl, and constant reader of our paper, wishes to exchange Cuban, Spanish, Tasmanian, and U. S. American stamps for some of corresponding value from China, Virgin Islands, Barbadoes, or Gibraltar. She hopes an English girl correspondent will reply.

MISS NORA HOPKINS, Brockville, Ontario, Canada (Box 200), wishes to correspond with “A CARDIFF GIRL” (February).

MISS F. G. BARTRAM sends her address for publication—Pleasant View, Clay Lane, Clay Cross, Derbyshire. She does not repeat in her letter the object for which this is to be done, and as her former letter has passed from our hands, we can only surmise she wishes for a foreign correspondent.

MISS ALICE M. BUDD, Dowling Street, Dunedin, Otago, New Zealand, wishes to correspond in French with a lady in France. She asks for a reply by post, but this is against our rules.

LEILA CLAXTON, 22, Patten Road, Wandsworth Common, S.W., would like to correspond with VIOLET M.

MEDICAL.

PARMA VIOLET.—There is not much doubt but that you are suffering from an attack of eczema behind the ear—and a very common and intractable complaint it is too. To treat the condition, first find out what causes it. Do not talk to us about poverty of blood or any nonsense of that sort. What we wish to know is—can you trace the affection to anything local or in the neighbourhood, such as discharge from the ear or unhealthy condition of the scalp? You say something about dandruff; that is seborrhœa, a very common concomitant of eczema about the face. If you have dandruff, this must be treated by washing the head with borax and hot water, and rubbing a little sulphur ointment into the scalp every night. For the eczema use a cream made of equal parts of olive oil, lime water, and oxide of zinc during the acute stage, when the itching is severe. Later, when the trouble is less active, use calamine ointment. Do not wash the part with water where the eczema is present.

L. M. S.—Read the answer to “E. MESSENT” and the many others who have asked us the same question. We can tell you nothing further.

ANXIOUS.—A high temperature may be a sign of a fatal disease or it may signify nothing. It therefore may or may not be harmful. But taking medicines to reduce the temperature is almost invariably harmful, for all such drugs are exceedingly powerful. We once knew a woman who had five children, and having heard that a high temperature was a serious thing, bought a thermometer and an ounce of antipyrin, and took the temperature of each child every morning. And when the temperature of any of them was above 102° F. she gave her a dose of antipyrin. Every one of her children is now dead, and we feel certain that at least one of them was poisoned by antipyrin. The physician does not seek to “cure” a high temperature, but he finds out what is the disease which is causing the increase of heat, and by removing that cause he reduces the temperature. It is only when the temperature, _per se_, is threatening life that steps are taken to reduce it, and then it is by the application of cold, and scarcely ever by drugs, that cooling is brought about.

A GAIETY GIRL.—It is one of the most vexed subjects in modern medicine whether or not pneumonia is an infectious disease. For ourselves we feel convinced that it is infectious, but it is only right to add that there are many great authorities who do not hold the same view of the matter as we do. It is a most difficult thing to prove whether a disease is really infectious, especially when it is not commonly infectious. A disease is infectious if it can be caught from one person by another directly. Obviously all such diseases must be due to germs. With such a disease as measles or scarlet fever, infection is obvious, and is the usual, possibly the invariable, manner by which the disease originates. Typhoid fever is infectious in a different manner; it is only very seldom caught from person to person, being almost constantly due to drinking infected water. Then again, some diseases are epidemic and infectious, such as the plague, and the various outbreaks of scarlet fever and diphtheria, which occur so frequently. But other diseases are epidemic but not infectious, such as influenza. In this case the poison is conveyed by water, or possibly food or air, but the disease is not caught from one person to another as a rule, although we feel confident that such does occasionally occur. Then again, some diseases are endemic, that is, confined to one locality, but are not necessarily infectious. Yellow fever and many other diseases are limited to tropical countries, and are yet infectious; but cretinism, goître, and malaria, etc., are also limited to certain districts, and are not infectious. So you see how complicated is the subject. Pneumonia frequently occurs in several members of the same family, and also many cases may occur in the same street, but at the present time it cannot be said whether the disease is infectious or epidemic or endemic. We feel pretty certain that it is one of these, and very likely it is all three—infectious, epidemic, and endemic.

A LONG YEARS’ READER.—In a short article on the hands which we published a few months ago, you will find the cause and treatment of red hands. The most important points to observe to keep the skin white and soft, are to wear a veil and gloves whenever you go out in the rain or sun; to use a good toilet soap, and never to put any irritating cosmetics upon the face. The only preparations which should be used are mixtures containing glycerine, such as glycerine and borax, glycerine and rose-water, or lime-water, etc. Glycerine keeps the face moist, and so prevents the skin from cracking.

MARGUERITE.—Drop the headache powders. Attend to your digestion and the condition of your bowels. In all probability your headaches are due to anæmia. Read the article on blushing that we published some months ago.

SYBIL.—Yes. Follow the advice we gave to Josephine. A solution of menthol in paraleine (1 in 8) is made by dissolving one part of crystallised menthol in seven parts of paraleine. No. Condy’s fluid would not answer the same purpose.

MISCELLANEOUS.

A LOVER OF FLOWERS.—The Bishop’s address was Oxford House, Mape Street, Bethnal Green, E. “The Lord Bishop of Stepney” is his style.

CHEVALIER.—By the law of Scotland, marriage is a contract completed by the consent of the parties, if there be no legal obstacle; but no irregular marriage in Scotland is now legal unless at the date of it one of the parties had been resident in Scotland for the previous twenty-one days. Clandestine marriages, such as those at Gretna Green, are valid; but the parties, the celebrator, and the witnesses, are liable to fine and imprisonment.

M. B. (West Indies).—The gold coins of George II. were guineas, not sovereigns. The latter were not coined till 1817, we believe. Some of these are extremely valuable; but we cannot say, from your description, of what issue your coin is. With the young head of the king, it is valued at from £5 to £8, and the old head at rather more. Of course these are fine specimens. Those of a later date are less valuable—from £1 10s. to £4. There were two issues during the reign.

ROBBY.—As to the question of who the “maroons” are—the name is derived from the Spanish _cimarron_, or “wild,” and was given in Jamaica, in the first instance, to the slaves left behind by their Spanish masters on the conquest of the island by the English, A.D. 1655. These so-called maroons kept up a guerilla warfare with us until the year 1795, when they were subjugated and sent away, some to Africa, and others to Nova Scotia. There are also Dutch maroons, who have been recognised as independent by treaty.

A. L.—Property settled on a wife before marriage is, under all circumstances, protected from the creditors of a husband; but if only settled by subsequent contract, then all debts due by him up to the date of execution may be paid out of it. The M. W. P. Act of 1882 secures all her property to her, both real and personal, absolutely, just as if she were a single woman. She may dispose of, bind, trade with, and leave it by will, but for her debts it will be liable.

ART STUDENT.—The great modern painter who executed the fine work entitled, “Christ before Pilate,” is a Hungarian. His real name is not Munkacsy, but Lieb. He calls himself after his native town, Munkacs on the Latorcza.

MAURITIUS, CORNFLOWER, NIL DESPERANDUM, and CHARLOTTE are all collectors of old stamps, and all want to sell quantities varying from 5,000 to 12,000. There are dealers in stamps in every large city, and certainly there would be in those from whence our correspondents write. So, if wanting to sell, they had better visit two or three dealers, and inquire of them; but there is a place in Switzerland to which they can be sent—a charity for orphans, and perhaps that would answer. The address is, Asile des Billodes, Le Lôcle, Switzerland; there we believe they are sorted and sold to dealers in all parts of the world.

S. D. H.—We do not know what is the matter with the kitten’s eye, but it appears, from your account, that it wants bathing with warm water. This will relieve the inflammation.

A COLLECTOR.—You would get a book on heraldry (perhaps) at the cheapest second-hand; but an old Burke’s _Peerage and County Families_ would give you the fullest information about many of the origins of crests and coats of arms.

PARTNER.—We should advise your being sent to a good school, as you are very young, and have got a lot of nonsense in your head, which ought to be full of something better; and judging by your writing, your education requires attention. A flirt is not a nice creature; she is a girl who, to feed her own vanity, desires to make others miserable.

FRANCES H. CHOLD.—1. The question of becoming a missionary to the poor must be decided by your parents, as you could do nothing without their consent. You would be quite unfit otherwise.—2. We do not see that you need become such a sufferer as you fear to be. Try to dismiss it from your mind. Remember that the source of our health is God; pay attention to your dietary, and adopt that which will prevent acidity. Do not worry, nor fret, nor be anxious. All these things would be bad for you both physically and mentally. We can really see no reason for your remaining single, unless you like that form of life. There is too much worry prevalent amongst us, too many to prophesy ill and look for evils that may never come. We must try to “Consider the lilies,” and live more as Christ told us to live.

MARY V.—1. We do not recommend the use of jewellers’ rouge for cleaning silver plate. It consists of a fine oxide of iron, and is better suited to goldsmiths’ work. It may be used without harm; but finely levigated or precipitated chalk is the best for your purpose. The mercurial plate powder is decidedly objectionable, as it corrodes the surface of the silver.—2. The “prairie dog” is in no sense a dog; it is misnamed; it is a species of marmot. They are about sixteen inches long, and sit up like a hare or rabbit, are very lively and playful, and live in burrows, and like to sit on a little earth mound in front of them, which they form in excavating their burrows. They are very timid.

COWRIES.—There is no way but boiling them to get the shells clean and freed from their contents.