e sent her off with a flea in her ear. I
don't know where she's living, but I've heard that her husband has gone
to America, and left her to shift for herself, now there's nothing more
to be got out of her.'

For supplementary details of this racy narrative, Fanny sought out
Beatrice; but to her astonishment and annoyance Beatrice would tell
nothing. The elder sister urged Fanny to give an account of herself, and
used some very plain speech of the admonitory kind.

'What has become of that jackanapes, Horace Lord?' asked Fanny, after a
contemptuous remark about 'sermons.'

'I don't know. The question is, what's going to become of _you_?'

Whereupon the girl grew vituperative in two languages, and made off. Her
relatives saw no more of her for a long time.

To Mrs. Peachey was born a daughter. Naturally, the months preceding
this event had been, for her husband, a renewal of martyrdom; his one
supporting solace lay in the thought of the little lad at Canterbury.
All the old troubles were revived; from morning to night the house rang
with brawls between mistress and servants; in the paroxysms favoured
by her physical condition, Ada behaved like a candidate for Bedlam, and
more than once obliged her husband to seek temporary peace in lodgings.
He left home at eight o'clock every morning, and returned as late as
possible. The necessity of passing long evenings made him haunt places
of entertainment, and he sometimes had recourse to drink,--he by
nature the soberest of men,--in fear of what awaited him on his tardy
appearance at Brixton. A month after Ada's confinement he once more
acted a sane part, and announced by letter that he would die rather than
continue living with his wife. As it was fine autumn weather he went
down to a seaside place, where his Canterbury relatives and the little
boy joined him for a holiday of several weeks. Again Ada was to receive
an allowance. She despatched a few very virulent post-cards, but
presently grew quiet, and appeared to accept the situation.

In early winter Fanny French came over to England. She had again been
ill, and this time with results obviously graver. Her first call was
upon Beatrice, who still occupied the flat at Brixton, and here she
unbosomed herself of a dolorous story. All her money had vanished;
stolen, most of it, Fanny declared; she was without resources, and, as
any one could see, in a wretched state of health. Would Beatrice have
compassion on her? Would sh