I'll tell
you to-morrow!"

"But you do!" cried Elfrida, departing. "I know you do."

CHAPTER XX.

July thickened down upon London. The society papers
announced that with the exception of the few unfortunate
gentlemen who were compelled to stay and look after their
constituents' interests, at Westminster, "everybody" had
gone out of town, and filled up yawning columns with
detailed information as to everybody's destination. To
an inexperienced eye, with the point of view of the top
of an Uxbridge Road omnibus for instance, it might not
appear that London had diminished more than the extent
of a few powdered footmen on carriage boxes; but the
census of the London world is after all not to be taken
from the top of an Uxbridge Road omnibus. London teemed
emptily, the tall houses in the narrow lanes of Mayfair
slept standing, the sunlight filtered through a depressing
haze and stood still in the streets for hours together.
In the Park the policemen wooed the nursery-maids free
from the embarrassing smiling scrutiny of people to whom
this serious preoccupation is a diversion. The main
thoroughfares were full of "summer sales," St. Paul's
echoed to admiring Transatlantic criticism, and the
Bloomsbury boarding-houses to voluble Transatlantic
complaint.

The Halifaxes were at Brighton, Lady Halifax giving
musical teas, Miss Halifax painting marine views in a
little book. Miss Halifax called them "impressions," and
always distributed them at the musical teas. The Cardiffs
had gone to Scotland for golf, and later on for grouse.
Janet was almost as expert on the links as her father,
and was on very familiar terms with a certain Highland
moor and one Donald Macleod. They had laid every compulsion
upon Elfrida to go with them, in vain; the girl's
sensitiveness on the point of money obligations was
intense, and Janet failed to measure it accurately when
she allowed herself to feel hurt that their relations
did not preclude the necessity for taking any thought as
to who paid. Elfrida staid, however, in her by-way of
Fleet Street, and did a little bit of excellent work for
the _Illustrated Age_ every day. If it had not been for
the editor-in-chief, Rattray would have extended her
scope on the paper; but the editor-in-chief said no, Miss
Bell was dangerous, there was no telling what she might
be up to if they gave her the reins. She went very well,
but she was all the better for the severest kind of a
bit. So Miss Be