in the company of Miss. Morgan. The marked sobriety of
her demeanour since Mr. Lord's death, and the friendliness, even the
affection, she evinced in their common life at home, had set Mary's
mind at ease concerning her. No murmur at her father's will had escaped
Nancy, in this respect very unlike her brother, who, when grief was
forgotten, declared himself ill-used; she seemed perfectly content with
the conditions laid upon her, and the sincerity of her mourning could
not be doubted. Anxious to conciliate the girl in every honest way, Mary
behaved to her with the same external respect as ever, and without a
hint of express guardianship. The two were on excellent terms. It seemed
likely that before long they would have the house to themselves; already
Horace had spoken of taking lodgings in a part of London more congruous
with the social aspirations encouraged by his aunt, Mrs. Damerel.

From Chancery Lane she passed into Fleet Street, and sauntered along
with observation of shop-windows. She was unspeakably relieved by the
events of the afternoon; it would now depend upon her own choice whether
she preserved her secret, or declared herself a married woman. Her
husband had proved himself generous as well as loving; yes, she repeated
to herself, generous and loving; her fears and suspicions had
been baseless. Mrs. Tarrant's death freed them from all sordid
considerations. A short time, perhaps a day or two, might put an end to
irregularities, and enable her to hold up her head once more.

Feeling hungry, she entered a restaurant, and dined. Not carelessly, but
with fastidious choice of viands. This was enjoyable; she began to look
more like herself of a few months ago.

She would return to Camberwell by train from Ludgate Hill. At the
circus, crowding traffic held her back for a minute or two; just as
she ran forward, a familiar voice caused her to stop again. She became
flurried, lost her head, stood still amid a tumult of omnibuses, cabs
and carts; but a hand grasped her by the arm, and led her safely to the
opposite pavement.

'What do you mean by shouting at me in the street?' were her first
words.

The person addressed was Luckworth Crewe; he had by no means anticipated
such wrathful greeting, and stood in confusion.

'I beg your pardon, Miss. Lord. I didn't think I shouted. I only meant
to call your attention.'

'Why should you call my attention?' Her cheeks were flushed with anger;
she regarded him as tho