me on a long visit, very much disillusionised as to the supposed
advantages of the marriage bond as compared with the freedom of a
handsome English girl of three-and-twenty, who is liked in her set and
has the run of a score of big country houses without any chaperonial
encumbrance. For the chaperon is going down to the shadowy kingdom of
the extinct, and is already reckoned with dodos, stagecoaches, muzzle
loaders, crinolines, Southey's poems, the Thirty-nine Articles,
Benjamin Franklin's reputation, the British workman, and the late
Herbert Spencer's philosophy.

On the previous evening Lady Maud had not told Margaret that Lord
Creedmore lived in Surrey, having let his town house since his
youngest daughter had married. She now explained that it would be
absurd to think of driving such a distance when one could go almost
all the way by train. The singer was rather scared at the prospect of
possibly missing trains, waiting in draughty stations, and getting wet
by a shower; she was accustomed to think nothing of driving twenty
miles in a closed carriage to avoid the slightest risk of a wetting.

But Lady Maud piloted her safely, and showed an intimate knowledge
of the art of getting about by public conveyances which amazed her
companion. She seemed to know by instinct the difference between one
train and another, when all looked just alike, and when she had to
ask a question of a guard or a porter her inquiry was met with
business-like directness and brevity, and commanded the respect which
all officials feel for people who do not speak to them without a
really good reason--so different from their indulgent superiority when
we enter into friendly conversation with them.

The journey ended in a walk of a quarter of a mile from the station to
the gate of the small park in which the house stood. Lady Maud said
she was sorry she had forgotten to telephone for a trap to be sent
down, but added cheerfully that the walk would do Margaret good.

'You know your way wonderfully well,' Margaret said.

'Yes,' answered her companion carelessly. 'I don't think I could lose
myself in London, from Limehouse to Wormwood Scrubs.'

She spoke quite naturally, as if it were not in the least surprising
that a smart woman of the world should possess such knowledge.

'You must have a marvellous memory for places,' Margaret ventured to
say.

'Why? Because I know my way about? I walk a great deal, that's all.'

Margaret wondered whethe