"We live in different worlds," she said with a sad smile when Adèle, in her girlish enthusiasm, pressed her to allow them at least to inquire after her. For Adèle was almost as much in love as her cousin, certainly more gushingly so; but there was no possibility of resisting the quiet firmness with which all efforts after further intimacy were set aside by the lady they had helped. With warm thanks she bade them farewell, but they both noticed, with youth's sympathetic insight, that her eyelids drooped as though she had been weary, and her lips slightly quivered before she turned away. Adèle's eyes filled with tears, and Arthur had to swallow a most uncomfortable lump that seemed to impede his utterance. Then the cousins became more sympathetic than they had ever been before in discussing their adventure and forming theory after theory about the mysterious stranger. But Adèle was the talker, Arthur the listener, and perhaps his cousin's conversation had never before been so much to his mind. CHAPTER III. _A WOMAN FACE TO FACE WITH THE WORLD._ How tedious, false, and cold seem all things! I Have met with much injustice in this world. Choking back the tears that seemed as if they _would_ well forth from a fountain that had long been sealed, Margaret Grey turned from her companions of an hour to go home. To a very desolate home in truth. Walled in and bricked out from the fair sights and sounds of Nature, even the sunbeams as they touched it seemed only to reveal its dinginess. But four walls cannot make a home, any more than a casket can enrich its jewelled contents. The most desolate exterior may be endeared by what it holds. It might be so with Margaret's home, yet no light came into her pale face as she caught sight of her dwelling. For a moment she even hesitated--it seemed bitter to meet its dull blankness--only a moment; then with a half smile at her own weakness she walked languidly up a few dirty steps and rang the bell. It was answered by a servant in keeping with the steps, and passing her by, Margaret went into her rooms. They consisted of a bed- and sitting-room, separated by folding doors. The sitting-room was very much what the exterior of the house had promised--very dull, very shabby. A cracked mirror was over the chimney-piece, its frame carefully veiled by yellow muslin that had lost its primal brightness. A chandelier in the centre of the room was also enveloped with the same dingy covering. A few shells and gay china ornaments were scattered about on unsteady stands. On a table beside the window was a group of dusty-looking paper flowers.