morning."

Olga, with slight confusion, admitted that she had been to see the
artist. For some weeks Kite had suffered from an ailment which confined
him to the house; he could not walk, and indeed could do nothing but
lie and read, or talk of what he would do, when he recovered his
health. Cheap claret having lost its inspiring force, the poor fellow
had turned to more potent beverages, and would ere now have sunk into
inscrutable deeps but for Miss Bonnicastle, who interested herself in
his welfare. Olga, after losing sight of him for nearly two years, by
chance discovered his whereabouts and his circumstances, and twice in
the past week had paid him a visit.

"I wanted to tell you," pursued Miss Bonnicastle, in a steady,
matter-of-fact voice, "that he's going to have a room in this house,
and be looked after."

"Indeed?"

There was a touch of malice in Olga's surprise. She held herself rather
stiffly.

"It's just as well to be straightforward," continued the other. "I
should like to say that it'll be very much better if you don't come to
see him at all."

Olga was now very dignified indeed.

"Oh, pray say no more I quite understand--quite!"

"I shouldn't have said it at all," rejoined Miss Bonnicastle, "if I
could have trusted your--discretion. The fact is, I found I couldn't."

"Really!" exclaimed Olga, red with anger. "You might spare me insults!"

"Come, come! We're not going to fly at each other, Olga. I intended no
insult; but, whilst we're about it, do take advice from one who means
it well. Sentiment is all right, but sentimentality is all wrong. Do
get rid of it, there's a good girl. You're meant for something better."

Olga made a great sweep of the floor with her skirts, and vanished in a
whirl of perfume.

She drove straight to the address which she had seen on Alexander
Otway's card. It was in a decently sordid street south of the river; in
a window on the ground floor hung an announcement of Alexander's name
and business. As Olga stood at the door, there came out, showily
dressed for walking, a person in whom she at once recognised the
original of the portrait at Miss Bonnicastle's. It was no other than
Mrs. Otway, the "Biddy" whose simple singing had so pleased her
brother-in-law years ago.

"Is it the agent you want to see?" she asked, in her tongue of County
Wexford. "The door to the right."

Alexander jumped up, all smiles at the sight of so grand a lady. He had
grown very obese, a