It was nearly two o’clock on the Friday afternoon. Nothing more could be done at present towards recovering Conrad, for he had not even left at his lodgings any Continental address. Possibly his place of sojourn might be revealed in the letter to his sister, posted by my hand: but it was far more likely that he himself knew not, at the time of writing, where he should find quarters. I must have been beside myself with worry and disappointment, when I dropped that letter into Her Majesty’s box; for if I returned, as had been arranged, by the express at five o’clock, several hours would be saved in the delivery of its tidings. And, as yet, I little dreamed where I should be at five P.M. In that little room, whose walls were more relieved than decorated by certain daubs of mine, which even in my narrowest straits I could not bear to part with, because an indulgent critic had found merit in them--a discovery requiring much acumen--here I now sat, gazing fondly, dreaming hazily, yearning strongly for the days gone by, yet only three months old, when I had not a crust or dress till I earned it by my labour. How that pinch enlarged my heart, God only knows, not I. Ah, then I was a happy girl, though I never guessed it. How proudly I walked down the Square, with my black straw bonnet on--which Idols called the Dowdy,--and my dark plaid shawl around me, the plainest of the plain, yet not prepared to confess myself so quotidian as my dress. Who could tell, in those happy days, who might come, or round what corner, and who could say whether of the twain would look the more accidental? And then the doubt--shall I look or not, better perhaps be intent on the fire-plug, and make him come round again? But now. Ah me, they have heaped up riches for me, and who shall come to enjoy them? Just as I was warming to this subject, gushing along in a fine vein of that compassion which alone of soft emotions we find it no duty to wrestle with, I mean of course self-pity--in came Mrs. Fletcher, suddenly, and in anger. "Well, Miss Clara," she exclaimed, throwing down her parcel, "so this is London, is it?" "To be sure, Mrs. Fletcher. What objection have you to make to it?" "No objection, Miss, only this, that if ever I seen a set of countrified folk, the Londoners are them. Why the commonest of our kitchen-maids would be ashamed to talk so broad, and to dress so contemptuous. And here I went half a mile to buy boots, real London-made; and trees all along by the side of the road, and pots on the shelves of the windows. I never, if Gloucester don’t look much more like a town."