Mr. Tytherleigh, as if reluctant to part from her, returned to Charlotte Street in the cab at her side. During their ride back she began to experience a curious sensation of dependence and helplessness. It would have been very agreeable to her if this freer, sweeter life which she had tasted formerly, and which was now hers once more, had come to her as a gift from her brother; but he had distinctly told her that she had nothing to thank him for, and only some very vague words about her father's dying wishes had been spoken. Who then was she dependent on? She had not been consulted in any way; her employer had simply been told that it would not be convenient for her to attend again at the place of business, and now she was sent to live alone in grand apartments, where she would have a cheque-book and some five-pound notes to amuse herself with. For upwards of a year she had been proud of her independence, of her usefulness in the world, of the room she rented, and had made pretty with bits of embroidery and such art as she possessed, and now she could not help experiencing a little pang of regret at seeing all this taken from her--especially as she did not know who was taking it, or changing it for something else. These thoughts were occupying her mind when she was led into her landlady's little sitting-room, and hoped that the lawyer or lawyer's clerk had only come to explain it all to her. “I don't know when I shall see you again, Miss Eden,” he said; she noticed that he and her brother had begun calling her Miss Eden on the same day; “but if there is anything more I can do for you now I shall be glad. If I can assist you in moving to Quebec Street, for instance----” “Oh no, thank you; all my luggage will go easily on a cab. Are you in a hurry to leave, Mr. Tytherleigh?” “Oh no, Miss Eden, my time is at your disposal”; and he sat down again to await her commands. “I should so like to ask you something,” she said. “For the last few hours I have scarcely known what was happening to me, and I feel--a little bewildered at being left alone with this cheque-book and money. And then, whose money is it, Mr. Tytherleigh--you can tell me that, I suppose?” “Why, I should say your own, Miss Eden, else--you could hardly have it to spend.” “But how is it mine? I forgot to ask my brother today to explain some things in a letter I had from him last night. He wishes me to be guided by Mr. Travers, and says that what I receive does not come from him, but from my father.” “Quite right,” said the other with confidence. “But, Mr. Tytherleigh, you told me some days ago that no money was left to my mother or to anyone belonging to her.” “Ah, yes, it does seem a little contradictory, Miss Eden. I was quite correct in what I told you, and--for the rest, you must of course take your brother's word.” “Yes; but what am I to understand--can you not explain it all to me?”