Elfrida. "I've only eight sovereigns left, and I can't
--oh, I _can't_ ask them for any more at home." So she
went swiftly on, pausing once before a picture-dealer's
in the Strand to make a mocking mouth at the particularly
British quality of the art which formed the day's exhibit,
and once to glance at a news-stand where two women of
the street, one still young and pretty, the other old
and foul, were buying the _Police Gazette_ from a
stolid-faced boy. "What a subject for Nadie," she said
to herself, smiling, and hurried on. Twenty yards further
a carter's horse lay dying with its head upon the pavement.
She made an impulsive detour of nearly half a mile to
avoid passing the place, and her thoughts recurred
painfully to the animal half a dozen times. The rain
came down again before she reached the _Consul_ office;
a policeman misinformed her, she had a difficulty in
finding it. She arrived at last, with damp skirts and
muddy boots. It had been a long walk, and the article
upon American social ideals was limp and spotted. A door
confronted her, flush with the street. She opened it.
and found herself at the bottom of a flight of stairs,
steep, dark, and silent. She hesitated a moment, and then
went up. At the top another closed door met her, with
_The Consul_ painted in black letters on the part of it
that consisted of ground glass somewhat the worse for
pencil-points and finger-nails. Elfrida lifted her hand
to knock, then changed her mind and opened the door.

It was a small room lined on two sides with deal
compartments bulging with dusty papers. There were two
or three shelves of uninteresting-looking books, and a
desk which extended into a counter. The upper panes of
the window were ragged with cobwebs, and the air of the
place was redolent of stale publications. A thick-set
little man in spectacles sat at the desk. It was not Mr.
Curtis.

The thick-set man rose as Elfrida entered, and came
forward a dubious step or two. His expression was not
encouraging.

"I have called to see the editor, Mr. Curtis," said she.

"The editor is not here."

"Oh, isn't he? I'm sorry for that. When is he likely to
be in? I want to see him particularly."

"He only comes here once a week, for about an hour,"
replied the little man, reluctant even to say so much.
"But I could see that he got a letter."

"Thanks," returned Elfrida. "At what time and on what
day does he usually come?"

"That I'm not at liberty to say,"