Nell shook her head wearily; and he nodded. He seemed years younger; and
his old stiffness had disappeared from his manner, the grave solemnity
from his voice.

"That is my train," said Nell.

He looked at her wistfully, as if he longed to take her back with him,
but Nell walked resolutely down the platform, and he put her into a
first-class compartment. Then he got some papers and magazines, and laid
them on the seat beside her. It was evident that he did not know how
sufficiently to express his gratitude.

"Your going is the only alloy to my--our happiness!" he said.

Nell smiled drearily.

"You will soon forget me," she could not help saying.

"Never! Don't think that!" he said. "Have you wired to say that you are
coming?"

Nell shook her head.

"I will do so," he said.

The guard made his last inspection of the carriages, and Wolfer held her
hand.

"Good-by," he said. "And--and thank you!"

The words were conventional enough, but Nell understood, and was
comforted.

As the train left the station, the boys from the book stall came along
with the early edition of the evening papers.

"Paper, miss?" asked one, standing on the step. "Evening paper? Sudden
death of the Hearl of Hangleford!"

But Nell had no desire for an evening paper, and, shaking her head, sank
back with a sigh.

CHAPTER XXV.

Beaumont Buildings is scarcely the place one would choose in which to
spend a summer's day; for, though they reach unto the heavens, they are,
like most of their kind, somewhat stuffy, the dust of the great city in
all their nooks and corners, and the noise of the crowded life
penetrates even to the topmost flat.

The agent, a man of fine imagination and unlimited descriptive powers,
states that Beaumont Buildings is "situated in a fashionable locality";
but though Fashion may dwell close at hand, and its carriages sometimes
roll luxuriously through the street in which the Buildings tower, the
street is a grimy and rather squalid one, in which most of the houses are
shops--shops of the cheap and useful kind which cater for the poor.

There is always a noise and a blare in Beaumont Street. The butcher not
only displays his joints and "block ornaments" outside his shop, but
proclaims their excellence in stentorian tones; and the grocer and
fruiterer and fishmonger compete with the costermongers, who stand
yelling beside their barrows from early morn to late and gaslit night.

The smells of Beaumont