cupy a great deal of room in the
universe when he grew up.

She busied herself all the morning about the flat, happier than she had
been for a whole year. Her days of Hagardom were over. The menacing shadow
of the finger of scorn pointing at her from every airt of heaven had
disappeared. A clear sky welcomed her as she came back to take up an
acknowledged position in the world. The sense of release from an
intolerable ban outweighed the bitterness of old associations. She was at
home, in London, among dear familiar things and faces. She was almost
happy.

When Madame Bolivard appeared with bonnet and basket undismayedly prepared
to market for lunch and dinner, she laughed like a schoolgirl, and made her
repeat the list of English words she had taught her in view of this
contingency. She could say "cabbage," "sugar," "lettuce," and ask for all
sorts of things.

"But suppose you lose your way, Madame Bolivard?"

"I shall find it, madame."

"But how will you ask for directions? You know you can't say 'Ecclefechan
Mansions.'"

Madame Bolivard made a hopeless, spluttering sound as if she were blowing
teeth out of her mouth, which in no wise resembled the name of the place
wherein she dwelt. But Madame Bolivard, as has been remarked, was a _brave
femme_; and _allons donc!_ this was the least of the difficulties she had
had to encounter during her life. Emmy bade her godspeed in her perils
among the greengrocers.

She went blithely about her household tasks, and sang and cooed deliciously
to the child lying in its bassinette. Every now and then she looked at the
clock over the mantelpiece, wondering why Septimus had not come. Only in
the depths of her heart--depths which humans in their every-day life dare
not sound too frequently--did she confess how foolishly she longed for him.
He was late. With Emmy, Septimus never broke an appointment. To insure his
being at a certain place at a certain time to meet her he took the most
ingenious and complicated precautions. Before now he had dressed overnight
and gone to sleep in his clothes so as to be ready when the servant called
him in the morning. Emmy, knowing this, after the way of women began to
grow anxious. When, therefore, she opened the flat door to him she
upbraided him with considerable tenderness.

"It was Clem Sypher," he explained, taking off his overcoat. "He sent for
me. He wanted me badly. Why, I don't know. At least I do half know, but the
other half I don'