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“miss” in the past month. The “compliment” no longer annoyed her.

The driver looked after her with interest. Grace was unusually attractive, and he was an impressionable man married to a woman of strong character.

“Who is that?” he asked of a constable who had sauntered up.

“Who’s who?”

“The little woman with the green hand-bag.”

The constable peered under the visor of his shako at Grace’s back.

“Stranger to me,” he answered shortly. “What’s she done?”

“Nothing. But I was getting a look at her occasionally in the mirror on the way over, and she was crying about something.”

“Women usually are crying about something, aren’t they? I should have thought you had trouble enough without worrying about other people’s.”

“Yeah? But when women cry like that they’re breaking their hearts.”

“Well, it’s none of our business. Ted. How’s the old ’bus running ?”

“Fair. Coughs a bit on this second-grade juice. I wonder if somebody’s dead in her family?”

“Somebody’ll be dead in your family if your wife finds you taking an interest in other women, old man.”

The constable chuckled at his own wit as he moved away. The ’bus-driver glared after him and made a derisive noise with his lips against the base of his thumb.

Despite his assertion that it was none of his business, the constable kept Grace in sight. He approved her figure and her lack of stature; he liked the way she wore her clothes; and he was moved to look upon her face. The tale of tears interested him. Perhaps, if she saw him, she would ask his help or advice. Accordingly, he increased the length of his