'To Let.' It was situated in one
of the narrow streets leading from the Strand to the river.

Stella looked doubtfully at it. 'I think it is larger than it looks,
Vava, and we really only need five or six rooms; and you know we must
not give too much rent, for I do not want to spend all our income,' she
said gravely.

'I'm sure this will be quite cheap. Do let's ask,' said Vava
impatiently.

So urged, Stella rang the bell marked 'Caretaker;' and after a long
wait, a grim and unfriendly-looking man appeared.

'Would you please tell me the rent of this house?' inquired Stella.

'Do you want an office in it?' inquired the caretaker.

'No-o. I wanted to know the rent of the whole house,' said the girl.

The man looked at her curiously; but she looked so grave and dignified
that he concluded that she was sent by some one else. 'Well, the rent's
three hundred pounds on a long lease, you may tell them,' he informed
her.

'Thank you,' said Stella quietly, and turned away.

'Three hundred pounds for that dirty little house! Oh London is a horrid
place, Stella! Let's go back to Lomore!' cried Vava.

Stella wished they could; but her sense of duty came to her aid, and she
said, 'That is quite impossible, Vava; we must stay in London. So the
best thing we can do is to try and be as happy as we can here, and do
our duty. We will live upon as little as we can, and save money, so that
we can go away for our holidays.'

These same holidays, if she had but known it, were a most unusual thing;
for Stella was to have a month in the summer, and ten days at Easter.
And the two began to plan a delightful Easter at the seaside somewhere,
and by the time they got home to their lodgings Vava was quite cheerful
again.

CHAPTER VII.

KIND-HEARTED LONDONERS.

'Oh Stella, it's a mist, a blacky-yellow mist--I mean a fog! How horrid!
What shall I do here all by myself while you are in the City? And how
will you get there? I shall be so frightened all the morning, thinking
you are lost. Can't I come with you? I will sit quite quietly in your
room while you are writing, and perhaps I could help you!' cried Vava on
the second Saturday morning, when she woke up to find London quite dark
and enveloped in a yellow fog.

'I can't take you with me, Vava; it would never do. That is not my room;
it is Messrs Baines & Jones's room. If I brought you there to help me it
would look as if I had too much to do, which is not true,' replied