an lines which closely resembled an old coaching
inn. The windows looking out upon the flower-bordered lawn had leaded
panes, the gabled roof was red-tiled, and over the arched entrance
admitting one to the rectangular courtyard around which The Hostel was
constructed hung a wrought-iron lamp of delightfully mediaeval
appearance.

Don opened the gate and walked beside Flamby under the arch and into the
courtyard. Here the resemblance to an inn grew even more marked. A
gallery surrounded the courtyard and upon it opened the doors of
numerous suites situated upon the upper floor. There was a tiny rock
garden, too, and altogether the place had a charming old-world
atmosphere that was attractive and homely. The brasswork of the many
doors was brightly polished and all the visible appointments of the
miniature suites spoke of refined good taste.

"It's very quiet," said Flamby.

"Yes. You see most of the people who live here are out during the day."

"Please where do I live?"

"This way," cried Don cheerily, conducting her up the tiled steps to the
gallery. "Number twenty-three."

His good cheer was infectious, and Flamby found herself to be succumbing
to a sort of pleasant excitement as she passed along by the rows of
well-groomed doors, each of which bore a number and a neat name-plate.
Some of the quaint leaded lattices were open, revealing vases of flowers
upon the ledges within, and the tiny casement curtains afforded an index
to the characters of the various occupants, which made quite fascinating
study. There was Mrs. Lawrence Pooney whose curtains were wedgwood blue
with a cream border; Miss Hook, whose curtains were plain dark green;
Miss Aldrington Beech, whose curtains were lemon coloured with a Chinese
pattern; and Mrs. Marion de Lisle, whose curtains were of the hue of the
passion flower.

The door of Number 23 proved to be open, and Flamby, passing in, stood
looking around her and trying to realise that this was the stage upon
which the next act of her life story should be played. She found herself
in a rather small rectangular room, lighted by one large casement window
and a smaller latticed one, both of them overlooking the courtyard. The
woodwork was oaken and the walls were distempered a discreet and restful
shade of blue. There were a central electric fitting and another for a
reading-lamp, a fireplace of the latest slow-combustion pattern and a
door communicating with an inner chamber.

"Oh!" cr