ng to fall, Oliver insisted that they should take a
cab. It was for his own sake, as Rosalind reminded him, rather than for
theirs. He had a profound dislike of dirty streets, dirty people,
unpleasant sights and sounds. And there were plenty of these to be
encountered in the North London district to which they were bound that
afternoon.

The three Londoners--for such they virtually were--could hardly refrain
from laughing when they saw Lesley's horrified face as the cab drove up
to the block of buildings in which the club was situated. "But this is a
prison--a workhouse--a lunatic asylum!" she exclaimed. "People do not
live here--do they--in this dreary place?"

Ah, me, and a dreary place it was! Three lofty blocks of building, all
of the same drab hue, with iron-railed balconies outside the narrow
windows, and a great court-yard in which a number of children romped and
howled and shrieked in play: it was perhaps the most depressingly ugly
bit of architecture that Lesley had ever seen. In vain her friends told
her of the superior sanitary arrangements, the ventilation, the
drainage, the pure water "laid on;" all she could do was to clasp her
hand, and say, with positive tears in her bright eyes, "But _why_ could
it not all have been made more beautiful?" And indeed it is hard to say
why not.

"Now we are going down into a coal hole," said Oliver, as he helped the
ladies to alight. "At least it was once a coal hole. Yes, it was. These
four rooms were used as storehouses for coals and vegetables until your
father rented them: you will see what they look like now."

"Lesley is horrified," said Ethel, with a little laugh. "Not at the
coal-hole," Lesley answered, trying also to be merry, "but at the
ugliness of it all. Don't you think this kind of ugliness almost
wicked?"

"Oliver thinks all ugliness wicked," said Mrs. Romaine, maliciously.

"Then _we_ ought to be very good," said Ethel. But Oliver did not
answer: he was looking at Lesley, whose face had grown pale.

"Are you tired?--are you ill?" he asked her, in the gentlest undertones.
They were still picking their way over the muddy stones of the
court-yards, and rough children ran up to them now and then, and
clamored for a penny. "Is the sight of this place too much for you?"

"Oh, no," said Lesley, with a sudden, inexplicable flush of color: "It
is not that--it is ugly, of course; but I do not mind it at all."

Oliver glanced round suspiciously, as if to dis