g the old blithe songs which they had sung in her childhood; there
was a flutter of many wings among the boughs, which as yet were
unclothed with green. Country voices came ringing across the fields and
over the hedges; country faces, stolid and rosy, met her as she turned
slowly into the sunny road leading to the village.

It was not difficult to find Stone Cottage, and, wonderful to relate, it
was really built of unadorned grey stone, not of brick. Time had done
much to soften the severe aspect of this sturdy habitation; creepers
clung to the grey walls--not wholly hiding them, but breaking up the
dull uniformity of neutral tint. In the little garden there was such a
brave show of jonquils and daffodils that it looked like a golden
paradise.

Mrs. Tryon was sitting by the fire in a little room which opened into
the kitchen. She was deaf and her sight was dim, but it pleased her to
believe that she still kept ears and eyes open to her servant's
delinquencies. Years of letting lodgings had developed all the
suspicious instincts of her nature; the domestic servant, she argued,
was the same all the world over, and always to be regarded with
unmitigated distrust. To the last day of her life, Mrs. Tryon would look
upon the maid-of-all-work as her natural foe.

The fire was bright; scarlet geraniums made a red glow in flower-pots on
the window-sill; a gay china mug, filled with daffodils, stood in the
middle of the table; it was no wonder that Elsie received an impression
of warmth and gaudy colours when she entered the room. The old woman
with the soured face and white hair was the only chilly thing to be
seen.

"I don't want Mrs. Dodge to be sending people here," she said, after
hearing Elsie's explanation of her visit. "A light-minded, rollicking
woman is my niece Dodge. She'll never make that house pay its
expenses--never!"

"You knew Mrs. Penn, I think?" began Elsie, anxious to turn the
conversation away from the Dodge subject.

"I used to know her when I was in London."

"Where is she now?" Elsie asked anxiously.

"That I can't tell you. She was never a great friend of mine. I was too
busy to make friends. She had part of a house in Soho Square. Some
people in business had the first floor. But I think she's gone."

"Did you ever hear her speak of a lady called Meta?" inquired Elsie, in
a voice that slightly trembled.

"Meta? No; I've never heard the name. Who was she? An actress, I
suppose?"

"Oh, no!" r