"I came down to the shop," said Janet; "but you were writing something for him, so I took advantage of it and came back. But don't do it, Patty; I don't like you to go in there." Patty did not answer, but stood looking, dreamy and thoughtful. "Are you keeping something from me?" said Janet, pettishly. "No--no--no," said Patty, starting, and smiling once more; "I was only dull without you. Now, let's talk. Some one came this morning--two some ones--they were there when you saw me writing--they spoke to me, and--and--and--" Patty's face reddened, and then grew worn and troubled as she spoke. "I did not like it," she continued; "and--and--there! what stuff I am talking! We shall have no French to-day. Let's go down, and when Monsieur comes in, get him to paint a partridge's beak and legs, and I'll help you to do it. There! pray, come down." Janet had her arm still round Patty's waist, and for a few moments she stood gazing up at her in a strange thoughtful way. She did not speak, though; but keeping close to her visitor, walked with her to the door, muttering softly, "Patty has secrets--Patty has secrets; and I guess what it means." Hand-in-hand they began to descend the stairs, but only for Patty to turn back and lead the deformed girl into the room. "What is it? what ails you?" said Janet, gazing wonderingly at her. "Are you ill? Do you feel faint?" "No--no; it is nothing; I--I thought--I thought I had seen one of them before." "One of them!" "Yes, one of the customers; but it was nothing--nothing," she said, sadly; "I must have dreamed it. Janet, do you believe in fancying things?" "Fancying things! What are you talking about?" "In feeling that things are to take place--in being as if something whispered to you that there was to be trouble by and by, and misery, and heartaches--that the hawk was coming to seize a miserable little weak pigeon, and tear, and tear it till its poor heart was bleeding." "No; stuff!" ejaculated Janet. "I feel so," said Patty, slowly, "and sometimes I believe it. O Janet! if one could be rich and nice, and live where people would not be ashamed to see you, and--Ah! I'd give anything--anything to be rich and a lady. But there," she cried, impetuously, "do come down." "Riddles--talking in riddles; like people speak in their sleep," said Janet, as she wreathed her long arm round Patty. "Perhaps you ought not to come and see me here, for it is horrible; but I am used to it, and I could not live without you now. They don't like you to come?" "No," said Patty; "but they think it would be unkind for me to stay away. They like you, and my father is fond of Monsieur Canau, and loves the musical evenings. You ought to come and live near us." "In fashionable Clerkenwell, eh?" said Janet, laughing. "No; he will not leave here--we are used to it, and we are poor, Patty," she added, with a sigh.