sun
sinks, how those beautiful alluring rose-coloured peaks become in a
minute awesome and gloomy. Well, it was rather like that with me. I
don't mean that it was gloomy; that's exaggerating, but it was prose,
and I had pictured it poetry. Heigho! It's a weary world."

Claire's glance was not entirely sympathetic.

"There are different kinds of prose. You will forgive my saying that
your especial sort is an _Edition de luxe_."

"I know! I know! You can't be harder on me than I am on myself. My
dear, I have a most sensible head. I'm about as practical and long-
headed as any woman of forty. It's my silly old heart which handicaps
me. It _won't_ fall into line... Have you finished your mending? May
I come upstairs and see your room while you dress?"

For just the fraction of a moment Claire hesitated. Janet saw the
doubt, and attributed it to disinclination to exhibit a shabby room; but
in reality Claire was proud of her attic, which a little ingenuity had
made into a very charming abode. Turkey red curtains draped the window,
a low basket-chair was covered in the same material, a red silk
eiderdown covered the little bed. On the white walls were a profusion
of photographs and prints, framed with a simple binding of leather
around the glass. The toilet table showed an array of well-polished
silver, while a second table was arranged for writing, and held a number
of pretty accessories. A wide board had been placed over the narrow
mantel, on which stood a few good pieces of china and antique silver.
There was nothing gimcrack to be seen, no one-and-elevenpenny ornaments,
no imitations of any kind; despite its sloping roof and its whitewashed
walls, it was self-evidently a lady's room, and Janet's admiration was
unfeigned.

"My dear, it's a lamb! I love your touches of scarlet. Dear me, you've
quite a view! I shall have sloping walls when I change my room. They
are _ever_ so picturesque. It's a perfect duck, and everything looks so
bright. They _do_ keep it well!"

"_I_ keep it well!" Claire corrected. "Lizzie `does' it every morning,
but it's not a doing which satisfies me, so I put in a little manual
labour every afternoon as a change from using my brain. I do all the
polishing. You can't expect lodging-house servants to clean silver and
brass."

"Can't you? No; I suppose you can't." Janet's voice of a sudden
sounded flat and absent. There was a moment's pause, then she added
tentat