"Really," she replied, "I don't know, but I am sure if she does call, I shall be very happy to see her, and to offer her a cup of tea. I always have tea at five exactly." She spoke earnestly, as if she feared her hospitable feelings might be doubted. I saw she knew nothing, and questioned her no more. Mrs. Gray was one of those quiet Englishwomen who seem to enjoy dullness for its own sake. She lived in a dull neighbourhood, in a dull square, in a dull house, and, as I soon found, she led as dull a life as she could devise. We rose early, breakfasted together in the gloomy parlour, then went to the lessons, which lasted until our two o'clock dinner. She was an intelligent educated woman, but a nervous, timid teacher; and what with her sensitiveness and her fear that she was not doing her duty by me, she managed from the first day to render both herself and her pupil somewhat uncomfortable. After dinner we took a short walk in the square, or in a neighbouring walk planted with dusty elms, and called the Mall. We took tea at five exactly; I sat up until bed-time, preparing my lessons for the next day, whilst Mrs. Gray worked, or slyly read novels. At first she was as secretive about it as if she were still a school- girl, and I a stern schoolmistress; but when she saw that I was not ignorant of the nature of the brown circulating-library volumes that now and then peeped out of her work-basket, she gave up the concealment part of the business, and informed me that though she did not approve of novels generally, she thought herself justified in making exceptions. Her taste for fiction was shared by Miss Taylor and Mrs. Jones, the only friends she saw constantly. Once a week they came to tea with us, and twice Mrs. Gray took tea with them. They were very quiet, inoffensive women, with the organ of wonder large. I could see that they considered me from the first as a sort of living novel, a "Margaret the Orphan," a "Child of Mystery," etc. I entered Mrs. Gray's house on a Wednesday; the same evening they took tea with her, and I detected both the looks and signs they exchanged, and overheard whispered remarks of "How strange!" "Most mysterious!" "You don't say so!" and the like. If Jane and Fanny Brook had overpowered me with their boisterous ways, the slow and quiet life I led with Mrs. Gray depressed me even to a sense of pain. I felt it much during the first few days, and waited impatiently for the Sunday. It came, but brought not Kate. I sat by the window the whole day long, eagerly watching for her through the iron railings that fenced in our abode, but she came not. As dusk closed around the dull square and brooded heavily over its melancholy trees, my last hope vanished. At first I thought she was offended with me and would not come, then it occurred to me that she might not know where I was.