gets up at night, and begins his day's work at
bed-time. He might like peas for breakfast at ten o'clock P.M.;
likewise broad beans. Just you wait three minutes. I bear them no
ill-will, though I never could approve of a man being an owl."

Within five minutes Rowles came back from his garden with a basket of
fresh-smelling vegetables. He gave it to his wife, saying, "You be
off, or you'll miss your train. Give them my love when they get up
this evening. There's a call for the 'Lock a-hoy!' And here they come,
girls in flannels and sailor hats, rowing for their lives, and men
lolling on the cushions with fans and parasols."

The husband went to open the gates for one of those water-parties
which are to be seen nowhere but on the Thames, and Mrs. Rowles set
off to walk to Littlebourne station.

She met with no adventures on her journey; reached Paddington safely,
took an omnibus into the city, and then walked to one of the smaller
streets on the eastern side of London.

This street was one which began with good, well-kept houses, and
dwindled away into small ones out of repair. About the middle of the
street Mrs. Rowles stopped, and went up on the door-step of a
neat-looking house, every window of which had white curtains and
flower-pots. She pulled the bell-handle which was second from the top
in a row of handles at the side of the door, and put her basket down
to rest herself, summoning up a kindly smile with which to greet her
sister-in-law, Mary Mitchell. The air of London was heavy and the
sunshine pale to Mrs. Rowles's thinking, and the sky overhead was a
very pale blue. There were odd smells about; stale fish and
brick-fields seemed to combine, and that strange fusty odour which
infects very old clothes. Mrs. Rowles preferred the scent of broad
beans and pinks.

It was some time before the door was opened, and then a young woman
appeared, holding it just ajar.

"Well, Mary, my dear--oh, I declare, it is not Mary!"

"Would you please to say who you want?" The young woman was not over
polite.

"I have come up from the country to see my sister-in-law, Mary
Mitchell. I beg your pardon, my dear, if I rang the wrong bell."

"Mrs. Mitchell don't live here," was the short reply.

"Not live here! Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean what I say; are you deaf? Mrs. Mitchell left here near upon
six months ago."

"Oh!" said Mrs. Rowles, much astonished; "I never thought of such a
thing. Whatever shall I do? And all