talk of.
That poor, helpless, foolish Virginia, alone there in her miserable
lodging! How can we hope that any one will take her as a companion? And
yet they are capitalists; eight hundred pounds between them. Think what
capable women might do with eight hundred pounds.'

'I am really afraid to urge them to meddle with the investments.'

'Of course; so am I. One is afraid to do or propose anything. Virginia
is starving, _must_ be starving. Poor creature! I can never forget how
her eyes shone when I put that joint of meat before her.'

'I do, do wish,' sighed Miss Barfoot, with a pained smile, 'that I knew
some honest man who would be likely to fall in love with little Monica!
In spite of you, my dear, I would devote myself to making the match.
But there's no one.'

'Oh, I would help,' laughed Rhoda, not unkindly. 'She's fit for nothing
else, I'm afraid. We mustn't look for any kind of heroism in Monica.'

Less than half an hour after Miss Barfoot had left the house at
Lavender Hill, Mildred Vesper made a call there. It was about half-past
nine; the invalid, after sitting up since midday, had gone to bed, but
could not sleep. Summoned to the house-door, Virginia acquainted Miss
Vesper with the state of affairs.

'I think you might see her for a few minutes.'

'I should like to, if you please, Miss Madden,' replied Mildred, who
had a rather uneasy look.

She went upstairs and entered the bedroom, where a lamp was burning. At
the sight of her friend Monica showed much satisfaction; they kissed
each other affectionately.

'Good old girl! I had made up my mind to come back tomorrow, or at all
events the day after. It's so frightfully dull here. Oh, and I wanted
to know if anything--any letter--had come for me.'

'That's just why I came to see you to-night.'

Mildred took a letter from her pocket, and half averted her face as she
handed it.

'It's nothing particular,' said Monica, putting it away under her
pillow. 'Thank you, dear.'

But her cheeks had become hot, and she trembled.

'Monica--'

'Well?'

'You wouldn't care to tell me about--anything? You don't think it would
make your mind easier?'

For a minute Monica lay back, gazing at the wall, then she looked round
quickly, with a shamefaced laugh.

'It's very silly of me not to have told you long before this. But
you're so sensible; I was afraid. I'll tell you everything. Not now,
but as soon as I get to Rutland Street. I shall come to-morrow.'