When she arrived it was eight o'clock, and a bitter evening. The scramble for luggage kept her shivering on the platform for ten minutes, and then a fly bumped her through the shuttered town. It was the hour of local dissipation; on one side of the favourite thoroughfare the blades of Blithepoint paraded jauntily, crying "Pip, pip" to stolid-faced young women on the other, who took no notice of them. Lady Darlington, reckless for sensations, envied these "roysterers" who could feel devilish gay so innocently. The cab shaved a corner, and rattled into a neighbourhood of obscure apartment-houses. Her mutinous heart warmed with sentiment, and she forgot how cold her pretty feet were. The cab stopped. She saw the blind of the ground-floor window dragged aside; an impetuous figure appeared, and vanished. The street-door was pulled wide, and a girl with a cloud of hair, and a string of barbaric beads dangling to the waist, flew down the steps and hugged her. "You trump! You've really come!" "You duck! How jolly to see you!" "'Ere, two bob, missie," said the flyman, "when you've done canoodling." They ran into the parlour, and laughed at each other in the gaslight. "Take your things off," said Tattie: "let me help you. I hope you'll like the diggings. I wrote to the swellest address I could hear of, when I got your letter." "But you shouldn't have. What for?" "Well, for you." "I wanted everything just as it used to be. That was it." "How funny! But I don't suppose these will strike you as very swagger after what you've got at home." "They don't." "Won't they be good enough?" "They're heavenly. Oh, Tattie, how good it is to be back! Did anybody bring in my trunk? 'In the Shade of the Palm,' and a Vocal Folio on the piano! And professional photographs on the shelf! Oh, let me see the photographs! 'To Mrs. Cheney from Miss Bijou Chamberlain--wishing you a Merry Christmas.' Who is she?" "She was here last week--a Variety artist. She seems to have been comfortable, as she gave the landlady her photograph. Are you ready for supper?" "Stout?" "Of course." "In a jug?" "Well, I thought after what you had come from I had better order Guinness." For a moment Rosalind looked downcast. "Ah well, never mind," she said; "we'll have it in a jug to-morrow." They drew their chairs to the ham-and-beef, and the landlady brought in the Guinness. "Good evening, Ma," said Rosalind, with youth in her bosom. "Good evening, my dear," said Mrs. Cheney. "You'll be glad of your supper, I daresay, after your journey?" She put comestibles on the table in three paper bags. "I was meaning to tell you, Miss Lascelles, that if you'd like a bit of something hot in the evening when you come back from the show, you can have it. I'm not one to fuss about hotting something up. Sundays we let the fire out, but in the week you can have it and welcome."