back, looking straight out of the open window.

There was a strange expression on her face; her brows were slightly
drawn together, and the curves of her lips had a, weary and pathetic
droop. She had taken off her gloves, and now and then she clasped her
slender white hands together with a nervous, passionate tension. Then
the look in her eyes became almost ugly, and her fellow passengers were
uncomfortable as they watched her.

At the little country town of West Brockley, Miss Hart alighted. She had
brought all her luggage in a small handbag, and now she walked to her
destination. It was in the outskirts of the little town, and amongst a
row of poor houses. She stopped at one of these, and entered by the open
door. A woman met her in the passage.

"Is Mr. Hart within?"

"I don't know, madam, I'll inquire."

"No, don't do that. I'll go to him myself. He's at the top of the house,
of course, as usual?"

"Why, as usual, madam? Mr. Hart has never been my lodger before."

"I know his ways. He invariably seeks the top."

"From no prejudice, madam. He seems a very quiet gentleman."

"Exactly. Treasure him, he is a valuable lodger. Now let me pass,
please. I am going to seek him."

"Perhaps I had better tell him first, young lady."

"I am his grandchild. It is all right. Let me pass."

She brushed the woman aside, and flew lightly up the stairs. She knocked
at the door of the top attic, but followed her knock into the room
before any one had made response from within.

Old Hart was, as usual, messing over some cooking. He stopped it when he
saw Josephine, and an iron spoon which he held in his hand clattered
noisily to the floor.

"Now, Nina, what is the matter?"

"I am going to spend the day with you, Granddad, and probably the night
as well. You can give me a bed in a corner of this delightful
sitting-room. Is that breakfast? I wish you would serve it up; I am
starving."

"It's a very good breakfast, little Nina. Fried rabbit, done after a new
method. Bacon and eggs to follow, with a sauce of port wine. Olives and
sour claret for dessert. I know your taste, witch."

"I love olives," said Nina. "Sit at the table, Grand-dad, and let us
begin. By the way, when did you shave last?"

"Ha--ha, who have I to shave for now, my pretty Nina? Nobody cares for
the old man, nobody looks at him with eyes of admiration. Why should he
waste his money and his time over the barbarous rite of shaving? Nature
has her way