would fall in love with Daisy, would reform for her sake; there would be
a splendid marriage; the Duchess would thank Mrs. Rand for having saved
her grandson.

Yes, Mrs. Rand had an incurably romantic mind.

Lizzie knew all about her mother's mind, and Daisy's mind. She dealt
with them very much as she dealt with Lady Adela's mind or Lord John's
mind. They were all muddled people together, and the clear-headed people
had the advantage over them.

So with regard to her mother and sister Lizzie had developed a
protective feeling; she wished to save them from the inroads of the
clear-headed people who might so rob and devour them.

She saw also that her connection with the Beaminster family was a very
bad thing for her mother and sister because it encouraged them to be
romantic and muddled and idle. But, at present, at any rate, there was
nothing to be done.

As she turned into the grey silence of little Saxton Square she did hope
that her mother and sister would not behave too outrageously about Mr.
Breton. She was interested, she would like to see him; his whole
possible relation to the Duchess, to Lady Adela, to Miss Beaminster set
her own imagination working. She did hope that her mother and sister
would not behave so disgracefully that they would frighten Mr. Breton
away so that he would never come near them again.

And then, as she reached the door of No. 24, she thought for a moment of
Rachel Beaminster.

"I like her," she thought, "I'd like to know her. She's never spoken to
me like that before."

III

No. 24 had three floors: the ground floor was occupied by the Rands, the
first floor by Breton and the second floor by an old decrepit invalid
called Caesar and his son, who was a bank clerk.

Down in the basement lived Mr. and Mrs. Tweed, owners of the whole
house; he had been a butler and she a housekeeper, and exceedingly
respectable they were. Every floor had its own kitchen and every lodger
found his own servants, but the hall was common for all the three
floors, and if young Mr. Caesar came in at two in the morning and banged
the front door everybody knew about it.

It must have been a fine old house in its day, No. 24, and there were
still fine carvings, good fireplaces and ceilings, high broad windows
and thick solid walls. Mrs. Rand liked to think that her drawing-room
had once seen fine eighteenth-century ladies reflected in its mirrors,
heard the tapping of high-heeled shoes on its polished