"Oh no, I was not thinking of anything for myself. It occurred to me that it might be dull in those `Homes' on holiday afternoons, especially for ladies who are strangers in London, and I hoped it might make a little change for them to come out to tea. It would certainly be a pleasure to me to receive them." "Indeed!" said Miss Beveridge coldly. The momentary animation which had flickered in her face at the thought of the possibility of classes died away, leaving her looking even more bleached and hopeless than before. She pressed her thin lips together, looked at the clock, and inquired suddenly-- "Can you tell me the nearest way from here to Maida Vale?" It was a direct intimation of departure, and Nan accepted it as such, giving the desired information, without protest, it is true, but in a manner absolutely devoid of offence. It was raining heavily by this time, and she would fain have offered to whistle for a hansom, but she felt that such a proceeding would have been interpreted as an additional offence. When the visitor rose, however, she insisted upon accompanying her downstairs, where in the privacy of the vestibule she allowed herself the luxury of a farewell appeal. "I am so sorry that it has been a failure! You are vexed with me for having brought you here for nothing, and on such a terrible afternoon too, but I _meant_ well! I'm young, and foolish, and don't know how to do things properly, but I couldn't bear to keep everything to myself, and I could think of no better way. You'll forgive me, won't you? I'm so sorry you've been bored!" Miss Beveridge looked at her swiftly, and as she looked her thin features twitched beneath her veil, and two little patches of colour showed themselves on her cheeks. "There is nothing to forgive," she said hurriedly. "Nothing on your side, at least. I was taken by surprise and did not quite understand. If you will allow me I will come again another time." "Will you--will you really? Oh, it would make me so happy!" cried Nan rapturously. "Thank you so much! Next Saturday, perhaps? I shall look forward to it all the week." She motioned the servant aside, and, accompanying her visitor to the door, insisted upon opening her umbrella and helping to tuck up the well-worn skirt. Her bonnie face shone out under the light as she waved her hand and cried out eagerly, "Come soon! Come soon!" Miss Beveridge shut her lips tightly and did not reply in words, but she did something which was more expressive--she dropped her skirt into the mud on purpose to wave a response! The November evening was dark and cheerless enough to strike a chill to the stoutest heart, but one solitary woman walked through it with a new glow at her heart. The warm light streaming out into the darkness, the sweet welcoming voice, were as meat and drink to her starved soul.