the father of the large family, had spoken to her about
little except money. She was not much in love with the Balls when she
returned to London, and the Littlebath plan was allowed to go on.

She made a preliminary journey to that place, and took furnished
lodgings in the Paragon. Now it is known to all the world that the
Paragon is the nucleus of all that is pleasant and fashionable at
Littlebath. It is a long row of houses with two short rows abutting
from the ends of the long row, and every house in it looks out upon
the Montpelier Gardens. If not built of stone, these houses are built
of such stucco that the Margaret Mackenzies of the world do not know
the difference. Six steps, which are of undoubted stone, lead up to
each door. The areas are grand with high railings. The flagged way
before the houses is very broad, and at each corner there is an
extensive sweep, so that the carriages of the Paragonites may be
made to turn easily. Miss Mackenzie's heart sank a little within her
at the sight of all this grandeur, when she was first taken to the
Paragon by her new friend the doctor. But she bade her heart be of
good courage, and looked at the first floor--divided into dining-room
and drawing-room--at the large bedroom upstairs for herself, and two
small rooms for her niece and her maid-servant--at the kitchen in
which she was to have a partial property, and did not faint at the
splendour. And yet how different it was from those dingy rooms in
Arundel Street! So different that she could hardly bring herself to
think that this bright abode could become her own.

"And what is the price, Mrs Richards?" Her voice almost did fail her
as she asked this question. She was determined to be liberal; but
money of her own had hitherto been so scarce with her that she still
dreaded the idea of expense.

"The price, mem, is well beknown to all as knows Littlebath. We never
alters. Ask Dr Pottinger else."

Miss Mackenzie did not at all wish to ask Dr Pottinger, who was at
this moment standing in the front room, while she and her embryo
landlady were settling affairs in the back room.

"But what is the price, Mrs Richards?"

"The price, mem, is two pound ten a week, or nine guineas if taken by
the month--to include the kitchen fire."

Margaret breathed again. She had made her little calculations over
and over again, and was prepared to bid as high as the sum now named
for such a combination of comfort and splendour as Mrs R