window-seat and watched her as she took
away the ugly crockery and the uglier food to hide them in his little
kitchen; and as he watched her he remembered many things. The lonely
childhood in a country rectory--the long, dull days with no playfellows;
then the arrival of the new doctor and his little daughter Rosamund
Rainham--and almost at the same time, it seemed, the invalid lady with
the little boy who lodged at the Post Office. Then there were
playfellows, dear playfellows, to cheer and teach him--poor Stephen, he
hardly knew what play or laughter meant. Then the invalid lady died, and
Stephen's father awoke from his dreams amid his old books, as he had a
way of doing now and then, enquired into the circumstances of the boy,
Andrew Dornington, and, finding him friendless and homeless, took him
into his home to be Stephen's little brother and friend. Then the long
happy time when the three children were always together: walking,
boating, birdsnesting, reading, playing and quarrelling; the storm of
tears from Rosamund when the boys went to College; the shock of surprise
and the fleeting sadness with which Stephen heard that the doctor was
dead and that Rosamund had gone to America to her mother's brother. Then
the fulness of living, the old days almost forgotten, or only remembered
as a pleasant dream. Stephen had never thought to see Rosamund
again--had certainly never longed very ardently to see her; at any rate,
since the year of her going. And now--here she was, grown to womanhood
and charm, clearing away his breakfast things! He could hear the tap
running, and knew that she must be washing her hands at the sink, using
the horrid bit of yellow soap with tea-leaves embedded in it. Now she
was drying her hands on the dingy towel behind the kitchen door. No; she
came in drying her pink fingers on her handkerchief.

"What a horrid old charwoman you must have!" she said; "everything is
six inches deep in dust--and all your crockery is smeary."

"I am sorry it's not nicer," he said. "Oh, but it's good to see you
again! What times we used to have! Do you remember when we burned your
dolls on the 5th of November?"

"I should think I did. And do you remember when I painted your new
tool-chest and the handles of your saws and gimlets and things with pale
green enamel? I thought you would be so pleased."

She had taken her place, as she spoke, in the depths of the one
comfortable chair, and he answered from his window-se