the Charing Cross Hotel? Gracious! that must have cost you a small
fortune."

"I didn't know what to do," Beth explained apologetically.

"You should have tried the Strand, Surrey Street, and there. You'd
have got bed and breakfast for five shillings, and that's more than
enough. However, it's no use crying over spilt milk. You'll have to
fetch your luggage, I suppose. You can go by train from Nottinghill
Gate to Charing Cross. It's about as cheap as the 'bus, and much
quicker. I'll come with you, and show you the way, if you like. A
breath of fresh air will do me good."

"Yes, do come," Beth answered gratefully, glad of the kindly human
fellowship. "What is your name, may I ask?"

"Ethel Maud Mary Gill; and what is yours, if you please?"

"Elizabeth Caldwell Maclure."

Beth had emptied her secret chamber and packed all her little
possessions before she left Slane. She had sometimes suspected that
Dan would be glad of an excuse to get rid of her, to relieve himself
of the cost of her keep; and that he would do it in some gross way,
and so as to put all the blame of it upon her, if possible, she also
expected. She was therefore prepared to consider the matter settled
the moment he threatened her, and would have felt it useless to
remonstrate even had she been inclined. But she was not inclined. She
had for years done everything patiently that any one in any code of
morality could expect of her in such a marriage, and no good had come
of it. As Daniel Maclure was, so would he remain for ever; and to
associate with him intimately without being coarsened and corrupted
was impossible. Beth had fought hard against that, and had suffered in
the struggle; but she had been lowered in spite of herself, and she
knew it, and resented it. She was therefore as glad to leave Maclure
as he was to get rid of her; and already it seemed as if with her
married life a great hampering weight had fallen from her, and left
her free to face a promising future with nothing to fear and
everything to hope. Poverty was pleasant in her big bright attic,
where all was clean and neat about her. There she could live serenely,
and purify her mind by degrees of the garbage with which Dan's
habitual conversation had polluted it.

The settling-in occupied her for some days, and the housekeeping was a
puzzle when she first began. She had only been able to bring the most
precious of her possessions, her books and papers, and clothes enough
for the