ere were two strips of
carpet, one before the fire and the other by the bed: the walls were
papered with a bright red paper representing peonies in bloom; and there
were three pictures--a portrait of a great Welsh preacher with a bardic
name ("Dyfed"), an engraving entitled "Feed my Sheep" (showing Jesus
carrying a lamb), and a memorial card of some member of the family of
the house, in the form of a tomb with a weeping angel on either side.

I paid five shilling a week for my room, and, as this included the use
of kettle, cooking utensils, and crockery, I found to my great delight
at the end of the first week that providing for myself (tea, bread and
butter, and eggs being my principal food) I had only spent ten shillings
altogether, which, according to my present needs, left me enough for my
time of waiting and several weeks beyond.

Every morning I went out with a little hand-bag to buy my provisions in
the front street; and every afternoon I took a walk in the better part
of Bayswater and even into the Park (Hyde Park), which was not far off,
but never near Piccadilly, or so far east as Bloomsbury, lest I should
meet Sister Mildred or be recognized by the old boarders.

I had no key to my lodgings, but when I returned home I knocked at the
front door (which was at the top of a short flight of steps from the
pavement) and then a string was pulled in the cellar-kitchen in which
the family of my landlady lived, whereupon the bolt was shot back and
the door opened of itself.

Finding it necessary to account for myself here as at the
boarding-house, I had adhered to my former name, but said I was the
widow of a commander lately lost, at sea, which was as near to the truth
as I dared venture.

I had also made no disguise of the fact that I was expecting a child, a
circumstance which secured me much sympathy from the kind-hearted souls
who were now my neighbours.

They were all womanly women, generally the wives of men working in the
milk factory, and therefore the life of our street was very regular.

At five in the morning you heard the halting step of the old "knocker
up," who went up and down the street tapping at the bedroom windows with
a long pole like a fishing-rod. A little before six you heard the
clashing of many front doors and the echoing footsteps of the men going
to their work. At half-past seven you heard the whoop of the milkman and
the rattling of his cans. At half-past eight you heard the little f