410	ANGEL    PAVEMENT
and am now your neighbour, four doors down on the
other side."
"That's Spilsby's room," said Miss Matfield.
"It was, but is Spilby's no longer. Spilsby is not
coming back. She's going to New Zealand or Australia,
I forget which, and it's just the place for her, whichever
it is. I've discovered Spilsby's secret vice—reading
those American magazines that you can buy cheap at
Woolworth's, and other places, you know the kind-
Western Yarns with a Punch."
"I know," cried Miss Cadnam.   "But not Spilsby?"
"Spilsby. She'd bought hundreds of them. I've just
had them turfed out. You couldn't move for them. All
Westerns or the big wild North-West or the red-blooded
Yukon, all bunches of gripping yarns with a punch.
Spilsby was a red-blooded Western addict—revolting!
Are you sure you wouldn't like some, Matfield, before
they're all gone? You look a bit fierce to-night."
"She is," said Miss Cadnam. "Aren't you, Mattie?
She's just been telling me that she's come back full of
grand resolutions."
"Ugh!" Miss Morrison looked disgusted. "Don't tell
me you've made up your mind to spend all your even-
ings learning Italian and German or something like
that."
"You're quite wrong."
"Quite."
"Thank the Lord for that," said Miss Morrison. "It
would have beeen completely foul. Besides, you're not
young enough and not old enough, if you see what I
mean, for that sort of thing. When I was a few years
younger, I used to come back full of good intentions and
ambition and tell myself I was going to learn commercial