oke down. "I am sure, my dear," she said,
"we have liked you very much, and if there has been anything
uncomfortable it has been from unfortunate circumstances." The
Serjeant bade God bless her when he walked off half an hour before
the carriage came to take her, and she knew that she was to sit no
longer as a guest at the Serjeant's table. She kissed the girls, was
kissed by Mrs. Bluestone, got into the carriage with the maid, and in
her heart said good-bye to Bedford Square for ever.

It was but three minutes' drive from the Serjeant's house to that in
which her mother lived, and in that moment of time she was hardly
able to realise the fact that within half an hour she would be once
more in the presence of Daniel Thwaite. She did not at present at all
understand why this thing was to be done. When last she had seen her
mother, the Countess had solemnly declared, had almost sworn, that
they two should never see each other again. And now the meeting was
so close at hand that the man must already be near her. She put up
her face to the carriage window as though she almost expected to
see him on the pavement. And how would the meeting be arranged?
Would her mother be present? She took it for granted that her
mother would be present. She certainly anticipated no pleasure from
the meeting,--though she would be glad, very glad, to see Daniel
Thwaite once again. Before she had time to answer herself a question
the carriage had stopped, and she could see her mother at the
drawing-room window. She trembled as she went up-stairs, and hardly
could speak when she found herself in her mother's presence. If her
mother had worn the old brown gown it would have been better, but
there she was, arrayed in black silk,--in silk that was new and stiff
and broad and solemn,--a parent rather than a mother, and every inch
a Countess. "I am so glad to be with you again, mamma."

"I shall not be less glad to have you with me, Anna,--if you will
behave yourself with propriety."

"Give me a kiss, mamma." Then the Countess bent her head and allowed
her daughter's lips to touch her cheeks. In old days,--days that were
not so very old,--she would kiss her child as though such embraces
were the only food that nourished her.

"Come up-stairs, and I will show you your room." Then the daughter
followed the mother in solemn silence. "You have heard that Mr.
Daniel Thwaite is coming here, to see you, at your own request. It
will not be many minutes