THE WALSHINGHAMS
"Between two and three thousand."
"Well, just think how many don't!"
Her smile came again, and broke into a laugh. "Oh, they don't count," she said, and then, realising that might penetrate Kipps if he was left with it, she hurried on to, "The fact is, I'm a discontented person, Mr. Kipps. Folkestone, you know, is a Sea Front, and it values people by sheer vulgar prosperity. We're not prosperous, and we live in a back street. We have to live here because this is our house. It's a mercy we haven't to 'let.' One feels one hasn't opportunities. If one had, I suppose one wouldn't use them. Still———"
Kipps felt he was being taken tremendously into her confidence. "That's jest it," he said, very sagely.
He leaned forward on his stick and said, very earnestly, "I believe you could do anything you wanted to, if you tried."
She threw out her hands in disavowal.
"I know," said he, very sagely, and nodding his head. "I watched you once or twice when you were teaching that wood-carving class."
For some reason this made her laugh—a rather pleasant laugh, and that made Kipps feel a very witty and successful person. "It's very evident," she said, "that you're one of those rare people who believe in me, Mr. Kipps," to which he answered, "Oo, I do!" and then suddenly they became aware of Mrs. Walshingham coming along the passage. In another moment she appeared through the four-seasons door, bonneted and ladylike and a little faded, exactly as Kipps had seen her in the shop. Kipps felt a certain
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