securing a sitting-room
which faced a similar drawing or sitting-room at the Franklands', where
the dancing lessons were given. Installed here he was enabled to make
indirectly, and without suspicion, inquiries and observations on the
character of the ladies over the way, which he did with much
deliberateness.

He learnt that the widow, Mrs. Frankland, with her one daughter, Frances,
was of cheerful and excellent repute, energetic and painstaking with her
pupils, of whom she had a good many, and in whose tuition her daughter
assisted her. She was quite a recognized townswoman, and though the
dancing branch of her profession was perhaps a trifle worldly, she was
really a serious-minded lady who, being obliged to live by what she knew
how to teach, balanced matters by lending a hand at charitable bazaars,
assisting at sacred concerts, and giving musical recitations in aid of
funds for bewildering happy savages, and other such enthusiasms of this
enlightened country. Her daughter was one of the foremost of the bevy of
young women who decorated the churches at Easter and Christmas, was
organist in one of those edifices, and had subscribed to the testimonial
of a silver broth-basin that was presented to the Reverend Mr. Walker as
a token of gratitude for his faithful and arduous intonations of six
months as sub-precentor in the Cathedral. Altogether mother and daughter
appeared to be a typical and innocent pair among the genteel citizens of
Exonbury.

As a natural and simple way of advertising their profession they allowed
the windows of the music-room to be a little open, so that you had the
pleasure of hearing all along the street at any hour between sunrise and
sunset fragmentary gems of classical music as interpreted by the young
people of twelve or fourteen who took lessons there. But it was said
that Mrs. Frankland made most of her income by letting out pianos on
hire, and by selling them as agent for the makers.

The report pleased Millborne; it was highly creditable, and far better
than he had hoped. He was curious to get a view of the two women who led
such blameless lives.

He had not long to wait to gain a glimpse of Leonora. It was when she
was standing on her own doorstep, opening her parasol, on the morning
after his arrival. She was thin, though not gaunt; and a good,
well-wearing, thoughtful face had taken the place of the one which had
temporarily attracted him in the days of his nonage. She wor