MISS MATFIELD WONDERS 237

during which yellow wisps of fog seemed to creep into
one's mind. But she was able to get away early and
have a really good Burpenfield bath, tons of hot water,
before changing.

She was quite ready when the message came that Mr.
Birtley was waiting below. In the corridor she ran into
Kersey, one of the depressing old inhabitants who, as
usual, was trailing along with a kettle. She meant well
—poor old thing—but she had a horrid trick of saying
things that depressed you at once.

"Hello, Matfield," she droned damply. "Going out,
are you? That's the way. You have to enjoy yourself
sometimes, haven't you? That's right, dee-ar."

This was Kersey's usual speech if she saw that you
were dressed to go out. She had another speech ready
for you if she saw you were not dressed. "Not going out
to-night, eh, Matfield? No, I thought not. Well, you
can't expect to go out every night, can you, dee-ar?"
And you left her drooping there, with her kettle, but not
before she had set your spirits drooping too, whether you
were staying in or going out. It was as if the horrible
future addressed a few remarks to you.

Norman Birtley was waiting in the lounge, looking
very tall, very awkward, very uncomfortable. Round the
fire was the usual set, two or three of the bright young
ones with Ingleton-Dodd lounging in the middle of
them. Ingleton-Dodd was a large woman, about forty,
with a curious white face, her hair plastered back, severe
mannish clothes, and a bass voice. She seemed to have
more money than anybody else in the Club, and owned
quite a good little car, about which she talked a great
deal. She was talking about it, or about some car, when
Miss Matfield walked in.