t, past mother and me, until his lordship
comes," she allowed herself the privilege of adding.

Emily felt a little nervous when she pictured to herself Lord
Walderhurst crossing the door-mat of a house in Mortimer Street in
search of his Marchioness. She had not yet had time to tell him the
story of the episode of the glass of milk and Hester Osborn's sudden
outburst. Every moment had been given to carefully managed arrangement
for the journey which was to seem so natural. Hester's cleverness had
suggested every step and had supported her throughout. But for Hester
she was afraid she might have betrayed herself. There had been no time
for writing. But when James received her letter (of late she had more
than once thought of him as "James"), he would know the one thing that
was important. And she had asked him to come to her. She had apologised
for suggesting any alteration of his plans, but she had really asked him
to come to her.

"I think he will come," she said to herself. "I do think he will. I
shall be so glad. Perhaps I have not been sensible, perhaps I have not
done the best thing, but if I keep myself safe until he comes back, that
really seems what is most important."

Two or three days in the familiar rooms, attended only by the two
friendly creatures she knew so well, seemed to restore the balance of
life for her. Existence became comfortable and prosaic again. The best
bedroom and the room in which she spent her days were made quite
cheerful through Jane's enterprise and memories of the appointments of
Palstrey. Jane brought her tea in the morning, Mrs. Cupp presided over
the kitchen. The agreeable doctor, whose reputation they had heard so
much of, came and went, leaving his patient feeling that she might
establish a friendship. He looked so clever and so kind.

She began to smile her childlike smile again. Mrs. Cupp and Jane told
each other in private that if she had not been a married lady, they
would have felt that she was Miss Fox-Seton again. She looked so like
herself, with her fresh colour and her nice, cheerful eyes. And yet to
think of the changes there had been, and what they had gone through!

People in London know nothing--or everything--of their neighbours. The
people who lived in Mortimer Street were of the hard-worked
lodging-house keeping class, and had too many anxieties connected with
butcher's bills, rent, and taxes, to be able to give much time to their
neighbours. The life in the