“Delighted to see you looking so well, my dear. I have a carriage waiting, and your rooms at the Wesleyan Flats are engaged. Not your old rooms, because Mrs. Brown and myself thought the associations connected with them were, perhaps, too sad; but rooms on the first floor front. There is hardly anybody there at this season, so you may really have your choice of apartments, if you should not like those that have been made ready for you,” said Mr. Merritt, after the first greetings were over and as he led her out on the sidewalk, where a hack was waiting to receive them. “You were very kind to take so much trouble on my account. I thank you very much,” said Roma as he handed her into the carriage. “Oh, now, don’t hurt my feelings,” said the lawyer with a laugh, as he paused at the carriage before following her. “But tell me—how about your baggage?” “Oh, I have only a trunk. I gave the check and address to an expressman on the train, and the trunk will be delivered to-morrow morning. It is too late to-night, you know.” “Yes,” said Mr. Merritt, and he gave the order to the coachman, “Wesleyan Flats,” and got in and seated himself beside her. They bowled along Pennsylvania Avenue to Fourteenth Street, and up that street to the northern terminus, and then turned west, and drove until they reached the new, tall, red-brick building named after the great Methodist. When the hack drew up before the door Roma noticed that lights were burning only in the hall and in the first floor front. She went up the steps and rang the bell while her old friend was taking out her bag and wraps and telling the coachman to wait for him. Mrs. Brown, the janitress, opened the door herself. “Oh, Miss Fronde! I am so glad to see you back again,” she said. “And you sat up for me. That was very kind,” Roma replied. “It is only half-past eleven. I am seldom in bed before this time,” said the janitress as they all went toward the elevator and entered it. ’Pollyon Syphax was on duty there. “Where is Titus?” inquired Miss Fronde. Titus was the elevator boy who had been on duty during Roma’s first sojourn in the house. “Titus? Oh, poor little fellow! the work, including the late hours, was too much for him. He is in the Children’s Hospital,” replied Mrs. Brown as the elevator landed them all on the first floor, and she led the way to Roma’s new apartments—front parlor, bedroom and bathroom. The gas was lighted and the windows hoisted, though the Venetian shutters were closed, but let in the cool night air through the slats. “I hope the child is not seriously ill?” Roma said interrogatively. “Oh, no. He has been so, but now he is getting well,” replied the janitress. “I will take him down to the Isle of Storms with me,” was Roma’s thought as she sat down in an easy-chair and took off her bonnet. “Now, what shall I bring you to eat?” inquired Mrs. Brown. “Nothing at this late hour. I had tea on the train. Where is my old friend Tom?”