have a brisker way, and laugh easier," conjectured Ned. "But you'll
feel more at home in London."

By the time she arrived in London, having slept in a different bed
each night after landing, and eaten at so many different inns each
day, Madge felt as if she had been a long while in England.[8] She
came to the town thus as to a haven of rest; and though she was still
gazed at for her beauty, it was not in that ceaseless and mistrustful
way in which she had been scrutinised from top to toe in the country;
moreover, the names of many of the streets and localities were
familiar to her, and in her thoughts she had already visited them: for
these reasons, which were more than Ned had taken account of, she did
indeed feel somewhat at home in London, as he had predicted.

The night of their arrival was passed at the inn, in the Strand, where
the coach had set them down. The next morning Ned chose lodgings in
Craven Street: three rooms, constituting the entire first floor; which
Madge, though she thought the house had a dingy look, found
comfortable enough in their faded way; and wherein the two were
installed by noon. They spent the afternoon walking about the most
famous streets, returning to their lodgings for dinner.

"I think," said Ned, while they were eating, "'twon't do any harm to
get on one of your best gowns, and your furbelows, and we'll go to the
play, and begin the campaign this very night."

"Bless me, no! I'm tired to death with sightseeing," replied Madge. "I
could fall asleep this moment. Besides, who's here to dress my hair? I
couldn't go without a commode."

"Oh, well, just as you like. Only be pleased to remember, ma'am, my
purse isn't a widow's mite--widow's cruse of oil, I mean, that runs
for ever. I've been at a great expense to bring you here, and pounds
and shillings don't rain from heaven like--like that stuff the Jews
lived on for forty years in the wilderness. The sooner we land our
fish, the sooner we'll know where the money's coming from. I sha'n't
be able to pay for lodgings and meals very long."

"Why, 'tis a pretty pass if you've no more money--"

"Well, it _is_ a pretty pass, and that's just what it is. I didn't
count the cost when I made the generous offer to bring you. Oh, we can
last a week or so yet, but the sooner something is done, the sooner we
shall be easy in our minds. On second thoughts, though, you'd better
go to bed and rest. It mightn't be well to flash on the town to-nigh