do in the next three months. There is that article for
me, and the translation of Feuerbach, and the Ouf stories."

This reminiscence of Sydney's criticism made Lettice laugh--she was
beginning to laugh again--and Graham's forecast of her future as a woman
of letters put her into a cheerful and hopeful mood.

The summer passed away, and the autumn, and when Lettice lighted her
first study fire, one cold day at the end of October, she could look
forward to the coming winter without misgiving. In four months she had
done fifty pounds' worth of work, and she had commissions which would
keep her busy for six months more, and would yield at least twice as
much money. Mr. Graham's seeds were beginning to send up their blades;
and, in short, Lettice was in a very fair way of earning not only a
living, but also a good literary repute.

One call, indeed, was made upon her resources in a very unexpected
manner. She had put by four five-pound notes of clear saving--it is at
such moments that our unexpected liabilities are wont to find us
out--and she was just congratulating herself on that first achievement
in the art of domestic thrift when her maid Milly knocked at her door,
and announced a visitor.

"Please, miss, here is Mrs. Bundlecombe of Thorley!"

Mrs. Bundlecombe was a bookseller in her own right, in a village some
three miles from Angleford. Her husband had died four years before Mr.
Campion, and his widow made an effort to carry on the business. The
rector in his palmy days had had many dealings with Mr. Bundlecombe, who
was of some note in the world as a collector of second-hand books; but,
as Lettice had no reason to think that he had bought anything of Mrs.
Bundlecombe personally, she could not imagine what the object of this
visit might be.

"Did she say what her business was, Milly?"

"No, miss. Only she said she had heard you were living here, and she
would like to see you, please."

Milly's relations had lived in Thorley. Thus she knew Mrs. Bundlecombe
by sight, and, being somewhat inquisitive by nature, she had already
tried to draw the visitor into conversation, but without success.

"Show her in," said Lettice, after a moment's pause. It was pleasant,
after all, to meet a "kent face" in London solitudes, and she felt quite
kindly towards Mrs. Bundlecombe, whom she had sometimes seen over the
counter in her shop at Thorley. So she received her with gentle
cordiality.

Mrs. Bundlecombe showed symptom