out of the window, Miladi, the whole way. She is
in ecstasy. Dogs have no judgment, Miladi."

When Lady Ingleton was in her sitting-room at the Adelphi Hotel, and had
had the fire lighted and tea brought up, she asked to see the manager
for a moment. He came almost immediately, a small man, very smart, very
trim, self-possessed as a attache.

"I hope you are quite comfortable, my lady," he said, in a thin voice
which held no note of doubt. "Can I do anything for you?"

"I wanted to ask you if you knew the address of some one I wish to send
a note to--Mr. Robertson. He's a clergyman who--"

"Do you mean Father Robertson, of Holy Cross, Manxby Street, my lady?"

"Of Holy Cross; yes, that's it."

"He lives at--"

"Wait a moment. I'll take it down."

She went to the writing-table and took up a pen.

"Now, please!"

"The Rev. George Robertson, Holy Cross Rectory, Manxby Street, my lady."

"Thank you very much."

"Can I do anything more for you, my lady?"

"Please send me up a messenger in twenty minutes. Mr. Robertson is in
Liverpool, I understand?"

"I believe so, my lady. He is generally here. Holidays and pleasure are
not much in his way. The messenger will be up in twenty minutes."

He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and went softly out, holding
himself very erect.

Lady Ingleton sat down by the tea-table. Annette was unpacking in the
adjoining bedroom, and Turkish Jane was reposing in an arm-chair near
the hearth.

"What would Carey think of me, if he knew?" was her thought, as she
poured out the tea.

Sir Carey was at his post in Constantinople. She had left him and come
to England to see her mother, who had been very ill, but who was now
much better. When she had left Constantinople she had not known she was
coming to Liverpool, but she had known that something was intruding upon
her happiness, was worrying at her mind. Only when she found herself
once more in England did she understand that she could not return to
Turkey without making an effort to do a good deed. She had very little
hope that her effort would be efficacious, but she knew that she had to
make it.

It was quite a new role for her, the role of Good Samaritan. She smiled
faintly as she thought that. How would she play it?

After tea she wrote this note:

"ADELPHI HOTEL, Tuesday

"DEAR MR. ROBERTSON,--As you will not know who I am, I must explain
myself. My husband, Sir Carey Ingleton, is Ambassador at Constantinople