she ever did in her life, poor
dear!'

'But nobody wants German, for girls that is,' replied Edward miserably.

'Very well then,' said Victoria, 'I won't teach; that's all. I must do
something else.'

Edward walked up and down nervously, pushing back his thin fair hair
with one hand, and with the other nervously tugging at his watch chain.

'Don't worry yourself, Ted,' said Victoria. 'Something will turn up.
Besides there's no hurry. Why, I can live two or three months on my
money, can't I?'

'I suppose you can,' said Edward gloomily, 'but what will you do
afterwards?'

'Earn some more,' said Victoria. 'Now Ted, you haven't seen me for three
years. Don't let us worry. Think things over when you get back to Cray
and write to me. You won't go back until to-morrow, will you?'

'I'm sorry,' said Edward, 'but I didn't think you'd be back this week. I
shall be in charge to-morrow. Why don't you come down?'

'Ted, Ted, how can you suggest that I should spend my poor little
fortune in railway fares! Well, if you can't stay, you can't. But I'll
tell you what you can do. I can't go on paying two and a half guineas a
week here; I must get some rooms. You lived here when you taught at that
school in the city, didn't you? Well then, you must know all about it:
we'll go house-hunting.'

Edward looked at her dubiously. He disliked the idea of Victoria in
rooms almost as much as Victoria at Curran's. It offended some vague
notions of propriety. However her suggestion would give him time to
think. Perhaps she was right.

'Of course, I'll be glad to help,' he said, 'I don't know much about it;
I used to live in Gower Street.' A faint flush of reminiscent excitement
rose to his cheeks. Gower Street, by the side of Cray and Lympton, had
been almost adventurous.

'Very well then,' said Victoria, 'we shall go to Gower Street first.
Just wait till I put on my hat.'

She ran upstairs, not exactly light of heart, but pleased with the idea
of house-hunting. There's romance in all seeking, even if the treasure
is to be found in a Bloomsbury lodging-house.

The ride on the top of the motor bus was exhilarating. The pale sun of
November was lighting up the streets with the almost mystic whiteness of
the footlights. Edward said nothing, for his memories of London were
stale and he did not feel secure enough to point out the Church of the
Deaf and Dumb, nor had he ever known his London well enough to be able
to pronounce judgment on