"I have made up my mind that the house shall remain--I mean that I shall keep the house," was her unintelligible remark; and then she got very red--quite scarlet--all over, and she walked to one of the bookcases, opened it, and took out two volumes of _The Daisy Chain_ and two more of _The Heir of Redclyffe_, and flung them into my lap. "You haven't read those, have you?" she asked. "Oh no," I replied, opening the first volume that came handy, and dipping into its contents. "I think you will like them," she said. "Take them back with you; put them into your brown-paper parcel. I mean--" She stopped. She was a funny woman, after all. Why did she draw herself up each moment? It became almost irritating. Well, the precious, darling, joyful time came to an end, and I was once more in the train. I was in the train, but on the rack above me there was no longer a brown-paper parcel--a hideous, humiliating brown-paper parcel. On the contrary, there was a neat little trunk in the luggage-van, and the only thing I had with me was my umbrella, which I held in my hand. I was wearing the dark-blue dress with the grey fur, so my hands were warm with my little grey muff, and altogether I was a totally different creature from the girl who had travelled down to Chelmsford on the Saturday before. Hannah was waiting for me on one of the big platforms at Liverpool Street Station. I was amused at the way she stared at me. "Sakes!" she cried, "who's that?" I went up to her and clapped her on the shoulder. "It's I. I am smart, am I not, Hannah?" "Sakes!" said Hannah again, "I wouldn't ha' known you. Here, come along--do. Where in the name of fortune did you get them things from?" "I'll tell you presently." "And where's your brown-paper parcel? My word, if it's lost there'll be a fuss! I don't think I dare take you home if the parcel is lost; all your best linen in it, and your night-dress with the frills, and the handkerchiefs, and the stockings, and the dress you went down in, and the new skirt and blouse as the Professor gave you. Wherever be the parcel?" I felt very dignified and grand. I called a porter. "My luggage is in the van behind that carriage," I said--"the van at the end of the train." "You ain't never put a brown-paper parcel in the van, child?" said Hannah, in high dudgeon. "Oh, come along, Hannah," I said. I swept her with me. She was quite neatly dressed, but I saw the cotton-wool sticking in her right ear, and somehow the depression of all that was before me in the ugly house swept over my mind with renewed force. The trunk was small and wonderfully neat. It had my initials, R.G., on it. Hannah gave a snort. "I suppose the person as togged you up in all that finery give you the trunk as well," she said. "You may suppose anything you like, Hannah; the trunk holds my clothes. Ladies cannot go about with brown-paper parcels. Now then!"