supper. They come in the mental arithmetic hour. I kick 'em out and slam the door. They never come again."
Anthony's face expressed trouble. Something within him enabled him to understand. Tetteridge laughed.
"It's all right," he said. He took the photograph of the science master's daughter from the mantelpiece and kissed it. "I'm going to marry the dearest little girl in all the world, and we're going to get on and be very happy. Who knows? Perhaps we may keep our carriage."
He replaced the latest photograph of Miss Seaton on the mantelpiece. She wasn't as dolly-faced as she had been. The mouth had grown firmer, and the look of wonder in the eyes had gone. She suggested rather a capable young woman.
He had left to Anthony the search for new premises. Anthony was still undecided when something unexpected happened. The younger Miss Warmington, after a brief illness, died. Mrs. Plumberry had nursed her, and at Anthony's request consented to call at 15 Bruton Square and find out how the land lay. It would be the very thing. It had two large class-rooms built out into the garden. Mrs. Plumberry was a born diplo-
