ad had to live among. In those
evenings the scene had grown familiar to her; the long room with the
three tall windows looking on the street; the Nottingham lace curtains
tied with yellow sashes in the middle; the vivid blue-green painting
of the wood-work, a bad match for the wall paper; the oleographs and
pier-glasses in their gilded frames; the carpet, with its monstrous
meaningless design in brown and amber; the table, secretary, and
cabinet of walnut wood whose markings simulated some horrible
discoloration of decay; the base company of chairs, and the villainous
little maroon velvet ottoman, worn by the backs of many boarders; and
beyond the blue-green folding doors the dim little chamber looking on
a mews. And the boarders, growing familiar, too, to her sensitive
impressionable brain; Miss Bramble, upright in her morning gown and
poor little lace cap and collar; Mrs. Downey sitting, flushed and
weary, in the most remote and most uncomfortable chair; Mr. Spinks
reading the paper with an air of a man engaged in profound literary
research; the two girls sitting together on the ottoman under the
gaselier; Mr. Soper wandering uneasily among them, with his
insignificant smile and his offerings of bon-bons; and Keith Rickman
sitting apart, staring at his hands, or looking at Flossie with his
blue, deep-set, profoundly pathetic eyes. For that pretty lady's sake,
how he must have suffered in those five years.

Rickman, from his retreat in the back drawing-room, watched her ways.
She was kind to Miss Bramble. She was kind to that old ruffian
Partridge whose neck he would willingly have wrung. She was kind, good
Heavens! yes, she was kind to Soper. When the commercial gentleman
approached her with his infernal box of bon-bons, she took one. He
could have murdered Soper. He was profoundly depressed by the
spectacle of Lucia's ways. If she behaved like that to every one, what
had he to go upon? Nothing, nothing; it was just her way. And yet, he
did not exactly see her sending messages to Soper.

He rose and opened the grand piano that stood in the back
drawing-room. He went up to her (meeting with a nervous smile
Flossie's inquiring look as he passed). He stood a moment with one arm
on the chimney-piece, and waited, looking down at Lucia. Presently she
raised her head and smiled, as surely she could never have smiled at
Soper.

"Do you want me to play for you?" she said.

"That is exactly what I wanted." He drew the flat