In less than six weeks the Stauntons were settled in London. George had taken lodgings for them in a cheap part of Bayswater. The rooms were high up in a dismal sort of house. There were a sitting room and three small bedrooms. George occupied one--Effie and the girls another--Mrs. Staunton, the baby, and little Phil the third. It seemed to Effie as if they had always lived in this uninteresting house, looking out on that narrow dismal street. They knew nobody. Their lives were very dull. Mrs. Staunton occupied herself over George, morning, noon, and night. She mended his clothes with scrupulous care; she washed his shirts herself, and took immense pride in bringing the fronts up to a wonderful polish. There was not a young man in the City who went to his daily work with such snowy collars as George, such neat cuffs, such a look of general finish. This work delighted Mrs. Staunton--it brought smiles to her eyes and a look of satisfaction to her face. Effie had got the money from Mr. Harvey, and had handed it without a word to George. He took it; his face flushed all over--tears filled his eyes. He said, "God bless you, Effie; you are the bravest, best sister a man ever had"; and then he went out of the room and out of the house. "He never asked me where I got it," thought poor Effie; "and now there's the interest to pay, and how can it possibly be taken out of our hundred a year? Mother must never, never know; but how is that interest to be paid?" The Stauntons had been settled about a fortnight in their new home, when Dorothy came to pay them a visit. She was very busy in her hospital life. She came in with her accustomed eager, purposeful walk. She sat down on the nearest chair, and began to talk cheerfully to the children and sympathetically to Mrs. Staunton. As soon as she had an opportunity, however, she drew Effie aside. "Now, my dear," she said, looking straight into Effie's brown eyes, "when are you coming to us?" "Oh, if I could come," exclaimed Effie, "I should indeed be happy, but I don't see any chance of it." "I do. You are not really wanted here; Agnes is growing a big girl. Your mother is devoted to your brother George; provided he comes home every evening, she scarcely gives a thought to anyone else. You can be spared, Effie, and it will be good for you. You do not look a bit the same girl. You have lost your 'go' somehow. You are very young. It is wrong to have a look like that when one is only twenty. You ought to come to the hospital, and there is a vacancy now for a probationer, if you can take it." "If I dare to," said Effie, "but it does not seem right." "Yes, I believe it is right. I know the matron of St. Joseph's Hospital so well that I think I can arrange with her that you should spend a part of every Sunday at home--at least, while you are training Agnes. The fact is, Effie, you are a born nurse, and it is a sin to lose you to the profession."