"Baba loves you very much," the child babbled on, her soft fingers touching Christina's white face, "and thank you for bringing Baba home. Pretty lady," she added suddenly, "Baba like when the pinky colour goes all up and down your cheeks." For, at that moment, the girl had become aware of the presence, not only of Lady Cicely, but of a tall stranger with grave grey eyes, and a rosy flush swept over the whiteness of her face. "Baba has not forgotten you," the former said, with her gay little laugh. "Rupert, this is Miss Moore, who so kindly brought naughty Baba home out of the fog. My cousin is Baba's guardian, Miss Moore, and he is as grateful to you as I am." Christina, in her embarrassment, did not observe Lady Cicely's omission of the tall stranger's surname; Cicely herself was unconscious that she had not said it, and Rupert was only intent on setting the girl at her ease. "Baba seems to be bestowing her own thanks in her own violent way," he said, as the child's dimpled arms were flung again round Christina's neck, and her soft face pressed against the girl's flushed one; "but we all owe you a debt of gratitude for having found, and brought her back. London streets are not the safest place for little babies of that age, with pearl necklaces round their necks." "That was what I thought," Christina exclaimed impulsively; "at least--I mean," she stammered, "I couldn't help being glad that I was the first person to find her, and that it was not one of the dreadful people who do prowl about in fogs, who saw her first." "We are most thankful for that, too," Rupert answered; and then, being a man of the world, he skilfully led the conversation to more general subjects, until Christina was soon talking quietly and naturally, with no more tremors or self-consciousness. When, a few minutes later, she rose to go, Lady Cicely held her hands in a clasp that was very comforting to the weary girl, and said gently-- "I am not going to worry you with more thank-yous; but I want you to come and see me again in a day or two. I think, perhaps, I may be able to hear of some work that would suit you." As Christina wended her way homewards, she felt, tired though she was, as if her feet trod on air. Hope was once more fully alive within her. Lady Cicely's lovely face and charming manner had bewitched the girl, and she was sure--quite, quite sure--that if the sweet little blue-eyed lady said she would do something for her, that something would infallibly be done. And--the tall cousin, with the grave grey eyes, and the mouth that seemed to Christina to be set in lines of pain? Those grey eyes and that firmly-set mouth, haunted her during the whole course of her walk, and through her mind there flashed unbidden the thought-- "I--wish I could comfort him. I am sure he is unhappy." Her way led her past the newspaper shop kept by Mr. Coles, and the little man himself was standing at his door surveying the world.