The Strange Experiences of Tina Malone. Ethel C. M. Paige

but I think, dear, perhaps she was absent-minded."

      I did not think so.

      There were times when I liked her.

      The first day I arrived and she showed me into my room and that beautiful view of sky and trees and harbour stretched out before us, she gave a cry of enthusiasm, "What colour! Look at the colour."

      She spoke like an artist and as if seeing it for the first time—revelling in it, and drinking it in with joy.

      She turned to me then and her face was aglow.

      I was quiet and lonely at that minute. I could not speak.

      She seemed to see just then.

      "It is beautiful to think," she said quietly, "that when those we have loved have passed over, they really know us as we are. All the little misunderstandings vanish, all the little meannesses of everyday life go, and they can see and know what we are feeling."

      I knew she meant that mother was not far away, and just then I thanked her in my heart, for understanding.

      Perhaps it was because she was jealous of my friendship with Naomi, but we soon found that we were not congenial.

      She was like a baby in her pleasure at the thought of Naomi's coming. She said she must get some new clothes, and seemed to be bustling about in her room.

      But soon after Naomi's arrival she had fallen back into her old routine again. Her life was evenly parcelled out into meditations, little domestic duties, and attending her classes.

      Naomi was in a difficult position. She loved Diana for ​her "aloofness," the very thing I was impatient at, but she and I were chums and she liked to be with me.

      "I can't stand her; she doesn't care for a soul but herself; how can you, Naomi!"

      "It doesn't matter to me a bit whether people care for me or not," said Naomi, "I just like her as she is. Besides," she said, "I have lived with her before. She comforted me when I was in great trouble. I was staying with friends of mine and we quarrelled. Now I come to think of it, it was because they laughed at Diana and I wouldn't stand it. I left, and went to stay, in the same house as she was. I was very miserable there and she soothed me so with her calm."

      "Give me more flesh and blood," I said, "I don't like statues—Rather a storm than a calm."

      "You little Pagan," she said.

      But the Priestess had her queer little ways.

      "Come down, Diana," called Naomi one day, "come and have some afternoon tea. I know you don't drink it but be wicked for once and do."

      "Well, will you promise not to talk scandal," said the Priestess, "I can't come if you talk scandal."

      "Promise?" asked Naomi, looking at me with a twinkle in her eye.

      She came down and we were as good as gold, but found ourselves out of pure devilment or nervousness, we scarcely knew which, finding something scandalous popping into everything we said.

      She was not often with us, for she had her own way of living and we were of the world.

      Then came the time when Naomi's bills used to come in, and she had the idea of letting some of her rooms in the flat downstairs.

      It was I who gave her the idea, unfortunately.

      Hers was a furnished flat, and when it came hard on her to find her rent and to meet her bills, she hardened her heart against Diana, who had persuaded her to go there.

      I put in a protest then for Diana's good intentions.

      "No," she said, "she wanted to get me here for her own sake—just for her own ends."

      Together we planned and suggested which room should be let and which kept for herself.

      Then came the advertising and the making known to agents.

      Diana was all out of this.

      Somehow Naomi and I had drawn very near to one another. The White Priestess went her own way, and all we knew of her, was when we caught a glimpse of her at her window above. She did not approve of Naomi's letting rooms.

      At last Naomi told me she had heard of some people.

      ​"They are theatrical. They asked me if I objected to their champagne suppers, etc. I thought it would be rather nice to have those champagne suppers—They said they would ask me in—What fun Tina! for you shall come too—but don't tell Diana—she won't approve. What business is it of hers who I let to?"

      But Diana had something to do with the letting of the rooms. She was part proprietress of the house. She found out, and the plan fell through.

      "Let the whole thing, and come up to me," I said, "I have a spare bed and you can do just what you like."

      And though at first she protested, that is what Naomi eventually did.

      It was before this though, that something mysterious happened.

      Rooms to Let

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      CHAPTER III.

      ROOMS TO LET.

      IN the arranging and clearing of those rooms Naomi and I came very near together—we laughed and chatted and fooled about—she called my attention to her staining and varnishing of the little sitting-room floor with pride. We had neither of us known much about housekeeping before—books and pictures were more our interests.

      We had funny experiences while we were trying to let them. First it was "theatricals" who wanted champagne suppers and late nights. She had no objection to this, but Diana, when she heard of it forbade it. Then there were young married couples who had stored furniture which they wanted to bring.

      It was at Easter time and rooms were scarce. There was one poor family who had trudged all day in vain search of rooms and left, knowing that there was only the park left to house them in. She would not take them because she had not enough beds.

      Then there was a clairvoyant.

      When I heard this I rebelled.

      "Now look here, Naomi, if you have that woman here I'll say good-bye to you. Fancy sitting opposite a woman at breakfast, for instance, who could see through you. No, thanks, I prefer to keep my mask on. No thought-reading for me. So its good-bye if she's to come."

      "She's not coming, dear, so you need not worry—keep your mask on and be happy. But she read my palms and she says she can't see me here long, but I am to be in a place with a lot of people round me."

      ​"Oh nonsense," I said, "You're more likely to be left in the lurch with only me to put up with."

      But one night when I went down to her she cleared a chair for me with an air of triumph.

      "Dear! Don't be shocked, but I've let the whole flat and I'm going over to stay with my sister-in-law for a week."

      "Why not with me?" I asked.

      "No," she said, looking at me with her deep eyes, "I've promised to go there."

      "Then I'll get married," I cried impetuously. "It's a shame. What am I going to do without you? I'll be horribly lonely. Oh, Naomi, why do you go away? I can't do without you. I'll just write to my cousin and tell him I'll marry him."

      But the next night she said:

      "I'm coming to you, dear, if you'll let me, after all—I'm not going to pay you a penny of money but I won't be any expense to you if you let me have that room for a week. They're coming on Saturday. Do you think the vibrations will clash?"

      She laid her hand against mine as it rested on the chair—She was a rebel now.

      "Oh, I don't think they'll clash,"