MISS MATFIELD'S NEW YEAR 405

another name, was a well-known actor. He bad visited
the Club twice, and each time Preston's reputation had
soared. "The minute I got home I started the vilest
cold, and then Archie—my brother, you know, the actor
—had promised to come for Christmas, but wired at the
last second that he couldn't."

"Hard luck!" cried Miss Matfield, but not with much
conviction. You had to give out so much sympathy at the
Burpenfield that you were apt to become very mechan-
ical, and if something really terrible and tragic had hap-
pened there, if, for example, half a dozen girls had gone
down with ptomaine poisoning, the other girls would
probably have been struck dumb, having overworked so
long all the possible expressions of pity and horror.

Now they were all discussing their holidays. The
youngish ones, who had probably enjoyed themselves
thoroughly, were mostly going about crying "Vile!
Absolutely ghastly, my dear!" The oldish ones, the
lonely hot-water-bottle enthusiasts, who had probably
had nothing but a mocking shadow of a Christmas, were
busy pretending, with a strained creaking brightness,
that they had had a wonderful time. The members in
between these two groups, such as Miss Matfield, gave
fairly truthful accounts. The entrance hall, the lounge,
the stairs and the corridors above, all buzzed with these
descriptions. The Burpenfield Club was returning to its
normal life. With admirable forethought, Miss
Tattersby had pinned up half a dozen new notices all
written in her most exclamatory and sardonic style, and
already these notices, especially a very bitter and
tyrannical one about washing stockings and handker-
chiefs, were feeding the mounting flames of talk. "My
dear, but have you seen Tatters1 latest?" they cried,