tayed so long, then, Henrietta, among such undesirable
surroundings?'

'Because it is cheap. There is no other reason in this world would keep
anybody in Bruges,' replied Madame promptly.

'But you have not yet told me why you cannot take the position offered
you.'

Then Madame turned her bright eyes, over-running with laughter, to her
friend, and there was a blush, faint and rosy as a girl's, on her cheek.

'Because, my dear, I have accepted another situation--a permanent one. I
am going to marry again.'

'Oh, Henrietta, impossible!'

'Quite true, my dear.'

'Another foreign gentleman, of course?'

'Why of course? No, I am going to rise in the world. I am going to marry
an English colonel, Isabel, and return to my own land. I believe I told
him that was my chief reason for accepting him at first.'

'But not at last?' hazarded Mrs. Fordyce, with a teasing smile.

'Well, no; romance is not dead yet, Isabel. But I shall tell you my
story by and by. Here we are.'

The carriages rattled across the market-place, and drew up before one of
the quaint, grey, green-shuttered houses. The _concierge_ rose lazily
from his chair within the shadow of the court, and showed himself at the
door. The ladies alighted, and were ushered into the small plain abode
where Madame Bonnemain had so long struggled for existence. All were
charmed with it and with her. She made them feel at home at once. Often
Gladys looked at her, and felt her heart drawn towards her. Yes, with
that bright, sympathetic little woman, she could be happy at Bourhill.
But somewhat late that night Mrs. Fordyce came into her room and sat
down by her bed.

'My dear, are you asleep? We have come on a fruitless errand; Madame
Bonnemain cannot come to you. She is going to be married almost
immediately, so what are we to do now?'

'It is a great disappointment,' said Gladys. 'I like her so much. Yes,
what are we to do now?'

'You must just come to us for another winter, Gladys; there is nothing
else for it.'

Gladys lay still a moment, revolving something in her mind.

'Would it be proper for me to have an unmarried lady to live with me,
Mrs. Fordyce?' she asked suddenly.

'Quite, if she were old enough.'

'How old?'

'Middle-aged, at least.'

'Then I know somebody who will do; it is a beautiful arrangement,' cried
Gladys joyfully. 'In the little fen village where we lived, my father
and I, there is a lady, Miss Peck--we lived in her house. She was