And so I was reduced to walking and reading. Newspapers, books, and reviews lay about the room. Had I been anything of a dressmaker, I should have made up the dresses bought in Paris, failing the money to give them out; as it was, they lay in my large trunk, unmade. Mr. Chandos had told me the books in the library were at my service, and I chose some of them. One morning, when I had gone in to get a book, Lady Chandos, passing the door, saw me and came in. I was standing before a book-case in the darkest part of the room; before which the inner curtains had always been drawn. They were undrawn now, but the doors were locked as usual. "Are you searching for a book, Miss Hereford?" "Yes, madam. Amidst so many——" The sight of Lady Chandos's face caused my sentence to fail. The evident astonishment with which she gazed on the book-case; the displeased, nay, the dismayed, expression of her countenance, was something curious. In my timidity, I feared she might think I had undrawn the curtains. There appeared to be books of all kinds, shapes, and sizes, inside; pamphlets and loose papers. Mr. Chandos happened to come out of his room, and she called him. "Harry," she began, in a sharp, authoritative tone, "who has been at this book-case, and left the curtains undrawn?" "It must have been Mrs. Chandos," he replied, advancing to his mother's side. "The doors are locked, I see; there's no great harm done." "No harm!" repeated Lady Chandos; "look here." She pointed to a name written on the white paper cover of one of the books. Mr. Chandos knitted his brow as he bent closer. "Very thoughtless of her; very negligent," murmured Lady Chandos. "I have said before the keys ought not to be entrusted to Ethel." As I quitted the room quietly, not liking to stay in it, I saw Mr. Chandos take a bunch of keys from his pocket; and, subsequently, heard the silk curtains drawn close, and the doors relocked. Never should I feel free to go to the book-case again. I had one volume of Shakespeare out, and must make the most of it. We were having lovely days, and this was one of them. I strolled out, the book in my hand. But, before settling to read, I went to the gates to see how they were getting on with the opposite house. They had been busy furnishing it for two or three days, and I—for want of something better to do—had taken an interest in it, and watched the things going in. It appeared all in order this morning; there was no bustle, no litter; curtains were up, blinds were half-drawn, and smoke was ascending from more than one chimney. The tenant or tenants must have arrived and taken possession.