Somehow after that life seemed to lose some of its joyousness. Something seemed to be wrong. She did not know what it was, nor why. She merely felt that things were different, not so nice as they had been before. After puzzling in vain for some time as to what the difference was, she fell to wondering when the change had started.

And suddenly she made the awful discovery that things had been gradually getting different since the day they had gone together to sell that horrid book. In that case, she thought at first, it must be her husband's fault. But she refused to believe that such a little thing could have seriously upset him so much as to make him change his whole behaviour towards her. Moreover, on thinking things over, she could not recollect any particulars of such a change. It must be something else. "Bother the horrid book," she said to herself, "how could it have changed things like that;" and then she naturally began to wonder what the book was all about, and why her friends had so persistently run it down. Though it was undoubtedly a nasty book, it might be worth reading, just as one takes nasty medicine. So the tempter whispered to her; and after a fight she lost the day.

Returning to Charing Cross Rd., and carefully avoiding the shop they had previously visited together, she bought a copy of the sinful book. On reaching home, she sat down to read it with beating heart and locked door--

When she had finished, she slowly and pensively wrapped it up again, and that evening put it on her husband's plate.

"Hulloh! What's this?" he asked, when he saw it.

"Only a present from me, dear," she said, blushing and turning her head away.

He opened it.

"Why it's -", he began, then, "But I thought -"

"I - I've changed my mind about it."

"But how can you change your mind about a book you have not read. You've not read it?" he asked perplexedly.

"No, no, of course not. But I've decided I ought not to interfere with what you read."

"I see", he said thoughtfully.

And after than things got better again.

T.G.

Tae Kwae.

The wild geese fade in the distance ..... faint scent of dead leaves from the orchard ..... Her palanquin waits at the gate.

L.H.

BC Archives, MS-2570 Box 1 File 6 MIST, Henry Masterman Ruhleben magazine, Prisoners’ Pie, 1916