g02 ANGEL PAVEMENT

Snieeth, rather wearily.

"Don't you worry, Dad. I'm not going to stick about
home long. Ill find something."

"What she'd like to do is to go to Madame Rivoli's
in the High Street," Mrs. Smeeth explained, "and learn
the business properly."

"What business? I'll trouble you for the greens,
Edna."

"Millinery. You know Madame Rivoli's in the High
Street, the place where I got that very nice purple hat
of mine that fell into the water at Hastings that time?
Mrs. Talbot keeps it now. You know, her husband died
of eating oysters about four years ago, and nobody
round here would touch 'em for months—well, that's
Mrs. Talbot, a little woman, looks a bit Frenchified—
smart, y'know, Dad? but overdoes it a bit. I pointed
her out to you one day, and you said if you'd legs as
thin as that you'd take the trouble-to hide 'em and I
thought she heard you."

"And then you talk about me talking," cried Edna.
"That's a nice way to talk, isn't it? And about Mrs.
Talbot, too. You couldn't want anybody nicer than
Mrs. Talbot."

"All we want is for you to mind your own business,"
said Mrs. Smeeth, forgetting that this really was Edna's
business. "But if you want something to do, you can
be fetching that pudding in and making yourself useful
while I finish this. And be careful getting it out. Use
the cloth."

"And where does Madame Rivoli come in?" asked
Mr. Smeeth.

"She doesn't come in. It's just a name, y'see, Dad.
Miss Murgatroyd had it before Mrs. Talbot. It catches