who
died. And then you sit there and tell me I ought not to be tired!"

"I beg your pardon. I'm sorry. I spoke without thinking. You are
quite right--I know nothing about it. People who preach to others very
often don't. Forgive me!"

"Don't be so penitent! It is really almost a relief to meet a woman who
_doesn't_ understand. All my friends are in pretty much the same case
as myself, and they haven't got"--she stretched out her hand and timidly
patted my arm--"my kind neighbour to help. Miss Harding, I think you
must have been a fascinating girl!"

"Oh, I was!" I said warmly, and then made haste to change the
conversation. "What about that hat? I'm quite a good amateur milliner.
Look out your oddments and let me see what I can do."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

NEIGHBOURS--AND REAL WORK.

The fame of me has gone abroad. I have been observed taking the
Manners' infants in and out, and the result has been a simultaneous
increase of interest, and--loss of prestige. Number 22, like Mrs
Manners, pushes her own "pram," but there the resemblance ends. She is
a healthy, full-blown young woman, smartly--and unsuitably--attired in
the very latest fashion of Kensington High Street. She wears large
artificial pearls round her neck, and wafts a strong odour of lily of
the valley perfume. Never for the fraction of a second did it occur to
me to offer to relieve _her_ of any of her duties; but she cast a
pale-blue eye at me, and wove her own little schemes. One afternoon, as
I was tucking the coverings round Baby Margaret's feet, she came up to
my side, and said in an exceedingly casual manner:--

"Oh, good afternoon. You are Miss Harding? I was just wondering--have
you any engagement for the mornings?"

I looked at her calmly, and said I had. Several! Most householders
had. She jerked her head, and said impatiently:--

"I didn't mean that. You take Mrs Manners' children out, I see. I
might be glad of a little help myself. It's such a bore pram-pushing
every day. How much do you charge?"

It is difficult to look haughty through blue spectacles, and while I was
trying, it occurred to me that it was a waste of time. It was a plain
business question. She did not mean to be insulting, so I smiled
instead--rather feebly, I confess--and said:--

"I don't charge. Mrs Manners is not well. It is a pleasure to me to
take charge of the children, so that she may have a little rest."

She "begged pardon" h