well." It was that picture that made
Alwyn Gaythorne's name.

Olivia hurried round to Brunswick Place as soon as her husband broke
the news to her, and spent the greater part of each day there for the
next week or two.

It was touching to see how the poor girl clung to her friends; she
would do nothing without their advice.

Dr. Luttrell saved her as much as possible. He and Alwyn did the
necessary business, and Olivia brought her work and Dot, and strove in
every way to cheer and console her.

It was a very quiet funeral. Only Marcus and his wife and Alwyn and
the lawyer were present. When they went back to the house the will was
read. The provisions were perfectly simple. Everything, with the
exception of a few minor legacies, was left to Greta,--the house in
Brunswick Place and an income of nearly three thousand a year.

Olivia opened her eyes a little widely when she heard this. She had no
idea that Greta would be such a rich woman. But Greta herself seemed
utterly indifferent.

"How am I to live on here alone?" she said, with an outburst of grief,
when she found herself left with Olivia. "Dear Mrs. Luttrell, you must
both help me. All my friends must help me to some decision, but to
live alone in this house just because it belongs to me; oh, I cannot do
it," with a sudden shiver of repulsion. "I would sooner go into a
hospital and learn nursing." But when Olivia repeated this speech to
Marcus he only smiled.

"An attractive young woman with three thousand a year will soon
discover some object of interest," he said, a little dryly. "But it
would hardly do to hint at this just now. Nursing in a hospital is a
fine work, no doubt, for anyone who has a vocation, but you may as well
tell Miss Williams not to ask my advice. She has not the physical
strength; besides, in her position, the idea is absurd.

"Why take the bread out of other women's mouths? No, no; just counsel
her to patience, and in a few months we shall see which way the wind
blows," for, though no word had yet passed between them, Marcus was
quite aware of Alwyn Gaythorne's _penchant_ for his old playfellow,
though the idea was hardly more pleasing to him than it was to Olivia.

"There is not enough of him," he said to himself. "He does not come up
to her mark. It is not her money, for Mr. Gaythorne is a rich man and
his son will have plenty, but she stands on a higher plane than his,
and, in my humble opinion, Miss Williams co