"I shall tell Dr. Luttrell that you have done me good," she said, pressing Olivia's hand; "how strange it seems--there is no cure for such a trouble as mine, and yet telling you about it has seemed to make it more bearable. Oh, please come again soon--very soon," and of course Olivia readily promised this. It was rather a disappointment on her return to find Marcus had been in for tea and had gone out again. Robert Barton, who was reading by the fire, said that he would not be back for an hour or two. "Have you had a pleasant afternoon, Mrs. Luttrell?" he asked, putting down his book, and trying to stifle a yawn; but, though Olivia replied in the affirmative, she did not vouchsafe any information about her visit. When Marcus returned two hours later, he found their guest had betaken himself to bed, and Olivia was able to give him a graphic account of her afternoon. "I am very much interested in Miss Williams," she observed presently; "fancy her turning out to be the very tall girl in brown at St. Matthew's." "Did your ears burn just now, Livy," observed Marcus, mischievously. "I am glad to find someone appreciates my wife properly; you seem to have got on like a house on fire; well, you will be doing good work there." "She said you were rather alarmed about her father that first night." "Did she? I never said so," he returned, dryly; "in some cases it is best to reserve one's opinion; but of course at Mr. Williams's age it is a grave matter;" then he drew his chair closer to the fire. "Life's an awful muddle, Livy, as that man said in _Hard Times_; fancy the loneliness of a young creature like that; why, she cannot be more than two- or three-and-twenty, and her lawful protector drinking himself to death." Olivia shuddered, her own young life had been anxious and hardworking; but compared with Greta Williams it had been strewn with roses. Could any parents have been more honoured than hers had been? And then had she not always had Aunt Madge's wise counsel and sympathy to aid her? and, lastly, had not the sunshine of a happy love glorified it? But Miss Williams apparently had none of these things. "Not more than others I deserve, but God has given me more," she thought, with a swelling heart, as she made her thanksgiving that night. In spite of outside weather, there was plenty of life and movement in the corner house at Galvaston Terrace. The next day Mr. Barton began his sketch of Dot, and he soon became so absorbed in it that he seemed to forget his weakness and lassitude. Olivia watched the progress of the picture with intense delight, and carried a favourable report of it on her next visit to Galvaston House.