And here it was that Erb made one of those mistakes of commission which the most reliable of us effect at uncertain intervals. He took up the photograph of a fur-coated young man, clean-shaven face, thin lips, and not quite enough of chin. “And who,” asked Erb pityingly, “who might this young toff be?” “He is stage manager,” she said rather proudly, “to a company touring in the provinces. Plays too.” “Relation?” “Not yet,” said Rosalind. As Erb blundered through the passage Rosalind warned him to attend to the home-work she had given him to do, and to come promptly to his next lesson; she held the door open until Erb went out of the gate, a new politeness which he acknowledged by lifting his hat. He had never lifted his hat to a lady before, and had always smiled contemptuously when he had seen gallant youths performing this act of respect. To atone for this retrograde movement he ran against the tardily-arriving lady pupil, and went on without apology. The lady pupil ejaculated, “Clown!” and Erb felt that he had righted himself in his own estimation. He looked about him as he walked up the crowded pavement towards the Elephant and Castle, because it was always one of his duties to recognise the railway vans. Disappointment clouded his eyes: he blamed himself for so far forgetting the principal duty of his life as to waste time on unremunerative investments. This was why he missed a Brighton goods van standing with its pair of horses near a large shop in Newington Causeway; the van boy reported Erb’s negligence to his mate when he returned, and this coming on the top of other annoying circumstances, the Brighton man said to himself, “This shall be chalked up against you, young Erb.” Erb reached Page’s Walk, having tried ineffectually to walk himself into a good humour, and found Louisa with a round spot of colour high up on either cheek, looking out of the window of the model dwellings and hailing him excitedly. “Put that ’ead of yours in,” he counselled. “You’ll go and catch cold.” “You won’t catch much,” retorted Louisa, “if you don’t arrange to be on ’and when wanted. ’Urry upstairs, I’ve got something to tell you that can’t be bawled.” Erb ran up the stone stairs, and Louisa met him at the door of the sitting-room, her eyes bigger than ever with the importance. The room had a slight perfume of violets. “Who d’you think’s been ’ere?” “Tell us,” said Erb. “But guess,” begged Louisa, enjoying the power that was hers. “Can’t guess.” “Lady Frances,” said Louisa, in an impressive whisper. “Well,” remarked Erb curtly, “what of it?” “What of it? Why, she wanted you to show her over Bermondsey, and she waited here upwards of a hower, chatting away to me like anything.” “Any other news?” “Yes,” said Louisa reluctantly, “but nothing of much importance. Letter from Aunt Emma; she’s coming up soon. Oh, and a man called to say there was trouble brewin’ at Willer Walk, and would you see about it as soon as possible.”