thought of slums; but remembered that
they would bring her into contact with the clergy, and most of her
offers of late had been from the clergy. Even the vicar who had prepared
her for confirmation, his first wife being then alive, and a second
having since been mourned, had wanted to marry her. "It's because I am
twenty-five and staid that they think me suitable," she thought; but she
could not help smiling at the face in the glass.

When she was dressed and ready to go down she was forced to ask herself
whether the person that she saw in the glass looked in the least like a
person who would ever lead the simple, frugal, hard-working life that
Uncle Joachim had called the better life, and in which he seemed to
think she would alone find contentment. Certainly she knew him to be
very wise. Well, nothing need be decided yet. Perhaps she would
go--perhaps she would not. "It's this white dress that makes me look
so--so unsuitable," she said to herself, "and Hilton's wonderful waves."

And she went downstairs trying not to sing, the sweetest of feminine
creatures, happiness and love and kindness shining in her eyes, a lovely
thing saved from the blight of empty years, and brought back to beauty,
by Uncle Joachim's timely interference.

Letty and Miss Leech heard the singing, and stopped involuntarily in
their conversation. It was a strange sound in that dull and joyless
house.

"I don't know what's the matter, Leechy," Letty had said, on her return
from the drawing-room, "but mamma and Aunt Anna are too weird to-night
for anything. What do you think they had me down for? They didn't know
where Stralsund was, and wanted to find out. They pretended they wanted
to see if _I_ knew, but I soon saw through that game. And Aunt Anna
looks frightfully happy. I believe she's going to be married, and wants
to go to Stralsund for the honeymoon."

And Letty took up her toasting fork, while Miss Leech, as in duty bound,
refreshed her pupil's memory in regard to Stralsund and Wallenstein and
the Hansa cities generally.

CHAPTER IV

Peter, meditating on the banks of the river at Estcourt, came to the
conclusion that a journey to London would be made unnecessary by the
equal efficacy of a congratulatory letter.

He had been greatly moved by the news of his sister's good fortune, and
in the first flush of pleasure and sympathy had ordered his things to be
packed in readiness for his departure by the night train. Then he had