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chairwoman, ordering people about quite naturally and without giving offence. Her secretary, Miss Honor Bredon, was capable, intelligent and hardworking, in fact a good secretary. The treasurer, Colonel Bradshaw (retired) did not do so badly either in what was a somewhat thankless and difficult job, for the finances of the Home were complicated and inadequate and what with inflation and his own kind and conscientious disposition, he spent quite a number of worried hours over The Haven’s affairs.
    The vicar, an ex-officio member, was more interested in bees than in anything else in this world, or, it must beconfessed, in the next. He was secretary to the County Apiary Society and often wished his parishioners were as industrious, clever and orderly as his beloved bees. But he accepted that this was not so, nor ever would be, and he did his duty by them manfully, which included serving on this particular committee and visiting the old ladies from time to time. Miss Hughes, one of the spare parts, possessed a surplus of both money and leisure and too few friends or interests, and so, on looking through her distressingly empty diary, she hailed with delight the entry for May 10th – “Committee Meeting at The Haven, 2.30 p.m.” She had been proposed as a member by Col. Bradshaw at the instigation of his wife, who had refused the honour for herself.
    “Yes, I know you are right, Dick, there should be another woman on the committee, considering The Haven is a Home for Old Ladies, but really, what with the Wives’ Fellowship and the Conservative Association and the secretaryship of the Bridge Club and the children and the garden, I really can’t undertake anything more, and Miss Hughes would love it.’
    Miss Hughes did love it, only she wished she could think of something important to say at the Meetings. However, she could always assent or dissent heartily to show that she really was deeply involved and interested. Col. Bradshaw cherished a secret hope that one day it might occur to her to donate a small portion of her large income to ease the financial straits of The Haven, but his hope was unlikely to be realized. Her money being her one asset, she naturally clung to it with tenacity. The sixth member of the committee was an architect, a little restless man with a sandy moustache. Someone had once suggested that he could be helpful about problems of conversion and maintenance and might be in touch with cheap or even reasonable contractors. This had not hitherto been so. He spent the time during meetings wondering why he was pointlesslywasting it and drawing little plans and pictures on his agenda paper. Seventh and last was a Mr Martin, the committee enthusiast, passionately addicted to irrelevant detail, but a mine of accurate information which was useful enough to outweigh the irritation he aroused.
    Their number happened to be the same as the number of the residents and they sat round the same dignified solid table on the same uncomfortable and far from solid chairs. Only Lady Merivale was provided with an imitation Chippendale, the usual function of which was to lend tone to the entrance hall. The hyacinths, certainly now past their best, had been removed to the sideboard and were replaced by the lilac, picked by the warden the day before, but this had already elected to turn bad-tempered and was lifeless and droopy.
    “Flowers always make a place look so homelike,” cooed Miss Hughes to Honor Bredon. “Our good Miss Blackett never spares herself, does she, to make everything as pleasant as possible for the old dears.”
    Honor responded with a little grunt. She found it impossible either to agree or disagree.
    Miss Blackett had had a strenuous morning and was looking hot in a too tight flowered artificial silk dress. With only Gisela’s inefficient help she had had to prepare the tea which was always provided after the meeting, to see to the dinner trays for the residents, to polish the table and set out the pads