er house at Brixton, where Mr. and Mrs. Peachey
took up their abode together. A medical man shortly called, and Ada,
not without secret disgust, smilingly made known to her husband that she
must now be very careful of her health.

On one point only the man had held to a rational resolve; he would not
allow his little son to be brought back to London, away from the home
where he was happy and thriving. Out of mere self-will Ada strove for a
long time to overcome this decision; finding argument and artifice of no
avail, she dropped the matter. Peachey owed this triumph largely to the
firm commonsense of his sister, who plainly refused to let the little
fellow quit her care for that of such a woman as he was unfortunate
enough to call mother.

Christmas came, and with it an unanticipated call from Miss. Fanny
French, who said she had lately recovered from a serious illness in
Paris; the nature of her malady she did not specify; it had left her
haggard and thin, but by no means deficient in vivacity. She was dressed
with tawdry extravagance, wore a mass of false yellow hair, had her
eyebrows dyed black,--piquant contrast,--and her cheeks and lips richly
carmined. No veritable information as to her past and present could be
gleaned from the mixture of French and English which she ceaselessly
gabbled. She had come over for Christmas, that was all; could not dream
of returning to live in wretched England. At Brussels and in Paris she
had made hosts of friends, just the right sort of people.

Ada told her all the news. Of most interest was that which related to
Nancy Lord. Only a month ago it had become known that Nancy was married,
and the mother of a child.

'The Barmbys found it out somehow,' Ada narrated. 'She was married to a
man called Tarrant, some one we never heard of, on the very day of her
father's death, and, of course, before she knew anything about his will.
Then, of course, it had to be kept dark, or she'd lose all her money.
Her husband hadn't a farthing. She supported him, and they say he lived
most of the time in her house. He's a regular scamp, a drinking, betting
fellow. Well, it all came out, and the Barmbys turned her into the
street at a moment's notice--serve her right!'

Fanny shrieked with merriment.

'And what is she doing?'

'She went on her knees to Beatrice, and begged for a place at the shop,
if it was only a few shillings a week. Nice come-down for Nancy Lord,
wasn't it? Of course Beatric