ood on one foot, and drew circles on the road with the other.

"Didn't decide myself till just the last minute."

"You hadn't taken another place then? I understood from your note--"

"I'm staying on with my mother. I may go to a lady at Guildford."

Silence. One department of my brain felt an immense relief, the other
an immense exasperation.

"Then you were free all the time! Doesn't it strike you as wrong and
dishonourable to show such a want of concern for other people's
convenience?"

She muttered. I caught the sound of a few words--"_I'm not the Only
One_!" and put on my most dignified air.

"However, it is all for the best. You certainly would not have suited
us. I hope for your own sake you will learn to keep your word."

I walked on, nose in the air, aggressively complacent in appearance, but
those words rankled!

"_Not the only one_!" Now what did she mean by that? Obviously the
insinuation was meant to go home, but how and where had we been to
blame? Not in our treatment of the woman herself. We had offered good
wages, and to pay for the time she had been kept waiting; yet something
had happened which had made her willing to lose money and time, and that
something was not another place! I felt puzzled, and, at the bottom of
my heart, _worried_ about it all!

Later on I paid my first visit to the little draper's shop, and ran the
fire of a universal scrutiny from the staff. The "young ladies" knew
who I was, and were devoured by curiosity, but it was not a friendly
curiosity! Instead of the eager smiles which usually greet a new
customer, there was a pursed-up gravity, a stolid attention to business,
which was decidedly blighting. At home in Ireland every tradesman was
more or less a friend, and what they did not know of Kathie's affairs
and mine was not worth hearing.

"Pastimes, I believe!" said the sales-woman with the pasty face, when I
directed the parcel to be sent home. Was it fancy which read a note of
reproach in her intonation?

Coming home, I met General Underwood in a bath-chair, being pushed along
by a man in livery. He has white hair and a yellow face. He looks
tired and ill, and lonely and sad. I'm sure he hates the bath-chair,
and fights horribly with his doctor, who insists on fresh air. He
rolled his tired eyes at me as I passed, and said something in a low
voice to his attendant. I was misguided enough to turn my head, and
behold! the Bath-chair was tilted