ed round
her at the luxury and beauty of the room, as those look who take their
leave of familiar scenes. The moment after, her eyes sank, and rested on
the rich dress that she wore a gift from Lady Janet. She thought of the
past; she thought of the future. Was the time near when she would be
back again in the Refuge, or back again in the streets?--she who had
been Lady Janet's adopted daughter, and Horace Holmcroft's betrothed
wife! A sudden frenzy of recklessness seized on her as she thought of
the coming end. Horace was right! Why not rally her spirits? Why not
make the most of her time? The last hours of her life in that house
were at hand. Why not enjoy her stolen position while she could?
"Adventuress!" whispered the mocking spirit within her, "be true to your
character. Away with your remorse! Remorse is the luxury of an honest
woman." She caught up her basket of wools, inspired by a new idea. "Ring
the bell!" she cried out to Horace at the fire-place.

He looked round in wonder. The sound of her voice was so completely
altered that he almost fancied there must have been another woman in the
room.

"Ring the bell!" she repeated. "I have left my work upstairs. If you
want me to be in good spirits, I must have my work."

Still looking at her, Horace put his hand mechanically to the bell and
rang. One of the men-servants came in.

"Go upstairs and ask my maid for my work," she said, sharply. Even the
man was taken by surprise: it was her habit to speak to the servants
with a gentleness and consideration which had long since won all their
hearts. "Do you hear me?" she asked, impatiently. The servant bowed,
and went out on his errand. She turned to Horace with flashing eyes and
fevered cheeks.

"What a comfort it is," she said, "to belong to the upper classes! A
poor woman has no maid to dress her, and no footman to send upstairs. Is
life worth having, Horace, on less than five thousand a year?"

The servant returned with a strip of embroidery. She took it with an
insolent grace, and told him to bring her a footstool. The man obeyed.
She tossed the embroidery away from her on the sofa. "On second
thoughts, I don't care about my work," she said. "Take it upstairs
again." The perfectly trained servant, marveling privately, obeyed once
more. Horace, in silent astonishment, advanced to the sofa to observe
her more nearly. "How grave you look!" she exclaimed, with an air of
flippant unconcern. "You don't approve of