“I didn’t think you would want late dinner, ma’am; ladies so often have tea and something with it—and company the first night——” but the landlady stopped with a little dismay in her voice, for Mrs. Baines looked displeased. “I am accustomed to dining late,” she said haughtily, feeling acutely the superiority of her own class, “and I have frequent visitors. Cabman, will you put those boxes into the bedroom?—and be careful not to knock the walls. They are so often careless,” she said, with a smile to the landlady that completely subjugated her, “and it is so very annoying to have one’s place injured.” “Yes, ma’am, it is,” Mrs. Hooper replied gratefully. “If you will give your orders we will get in what you want for this evening while you are gone to Portman Square.” The address had evidently impressed her. “I must consider for a moment,” and Aunt Anne sat down and was silent. Then she ordered a little dinner that she thought would be after the heart of Mr. Wimple, and gave many domestic directions; and with “I trust to you to make everything exceedingly comfortable, Mrs. Hooper,” departed in a four-wheeled cab. Sir William Rammage lived in a big house in Portman Square. The windows looked dull, the blinds dingy, the door-step deserted. Half the square seemed to hear the knock which Mrs. Baines gave at the double door. A servant in an old-fashioned black suit appeared with an air of surprise. “Is Sir William Rammage at home?” Mrs. Baines asked. The man looked her swiftly up and down. “Yes, ma’am.” “I wish to see him,” she said, and walked into the wide stone hall, before the servant could prevent her. “It’s quite impossible, ma’am,” he said firmly; “Sir William keeps his room, and is too ill to see any one.” “You will be good enough to take him my card,” Mrs. Baines said. “If he is able to do so, you will find that he will see me.” “I’ll take it to Mr. Boughton, ma’am,” said the man hesitatingly, for he was overcome by the visitor’s imperious manner; “he has been with Sir William just now, and will know if it is possible for any one to see him.” “Who is Mr. Boughton?” she asked, almost contemptuously. “He is Sir William’s solicitor.” “Very well, that will do,” said Mrs. Baines, and she was shown into a large empty dining-room, that looked as grim and gloomy as the outside of the house had promised that all should be within. In a few minutes he returned. “Mr. Boughton will be with you directly, ma’am,” he said respectfully. In five minutes’ time there appeared a little dried-up man, bald and shrewd-looking, but with a kindly expression in his pinky face. “Mr. Boughton,” Mrs. Baines said, “I am most glad to make your acquaintance;” and she shook hands. “Is it possible to see Sir William Rammage? He is my cousin, and we have known each other since we were children together.” “Quite impossible, my dear madam, quite impossible,” the lawyer answered briskly. “Is he very ill?” “Very seriously ill.”