ving in this flat with her, Merat, you must feel lonely. Do
you never wish for your own country?"

"But I am with mademoiselle, Sir Owen; and if I were to leave her, no
one else could look after her--at least, not as I can. You see, we
know each other so well, and everything belonging to her interests
me. Perhaps you would like to see her, Sir Owen?"

"I'd like to see her, but what good would it do me or her? I'll see
her in the evening, when I can speak to her. To see her lying there
unconscious, Merat--no, it would only put thoughts of death into my
mind; and she will have to die, though she didn't die last night,
just as we all shall have to die--you and I, in a few years we shall
be dead."

"Your thoughts are very gloomy, Sir Owen."

"You don't expect me to have gay thoughts to-day, do you, Merat? So
here is where you live, you and she; and that is her writing-table?"

"Yes; she sits there in the evening, quite contented, writing
letters."

"To whom?" Owen asked. "To no one but priests and nuns?"

"Yes, she is very interested in her poor people, and she has to write
a great many letters on their behalf."

"I know--to get them work." And they walked round the room. "Well,
Merat, this isn't what we are accustomed to--this isn't like Park
Lane."

"Mademoiselle only cares for plain things now; if she had the money
she would spend it all upon her poor people. It was a long time
before I could persuade her to buy the sofa you have been sitting on
just now; she has not had it above two months."

"And all these clothes, Merat--what are they?"

"Oh, I have forgotten to take them away." And Merat told him that
these were clothes that Evelyn was making for her poor people--for
little boys who were going upon a school-treat, mostly poor Irish;
and Owen picked up a cap from the floor, and a little crooked smile
came into his face when he heard it was intended for Paddy Sullivan.

"All the same, it is better she should think about poor people than
about religion."

"Far better, Sir Owen, far better. Sometimes I'm afraid she will
bring back things upon her. She comes back tired and sleeps; but
when she spends her time in churches thinking of her sins, or what
she imagines to be sins, Sir Owen, I hear her walking about her room
at night, and in the morning she tells me she hasn't slept at all."

"What you tell me is very serious, Merat. All the same, all the same--
jackets and coats for Paddy Sullivan's children.