“Why, good heavens, there is Mrs. Dudley,” exclaimed Mr. Croft. “Can you make room for us?” he asked, eagerly opening the door of the compartment she occupied. “Are you all returning to town? I had not the slightest expectation of meeting you here.” “We always meant to return to-day,” answered Heather, after she had spoken to Mr. Stewart, and the two gentlemen were seated _vis-à-vis_. “But I thought you were going to remain for some time longer?” “So we are, unhappily, I believe,” he replied, putting up the window in order to keep the smoke out of the carriage while passing through the second tunnel. “I only wish,” he added, as they sped on out into the sunshine again, “we were not going to remain. I think St. Leonard’s the most wearisome spot on the face of the whole earth.” “And we have enjoyed our visit so much!” said Heather. “But then ladies have resources within themselves of which we men know nothing,” he answered. “I cannot agree with that,” Heather replied; “we may have resources at home, but certainly not in lodgings; and there is one thing you can do which we cannot—smoke; Lucy and I, for instance, could not have amused ourselves for a whole evening walking up and down the Parade slowly puffing cigars, as I have seen you and Mr. Stewart doing.” “No, but you could let your dresses sweep the ground,” answered Mr. Croft. “I often fancy that swish-swish of my wife’s train must produce the same soothing effect upon her nerves as a cigar does on mine. Now, Miss Lally, you have not spoken one word to me for the last four days, and my heart is broken in consequence. Will you be good and talk to me now?” and Mr. Croft put out his hand to the little girl, who came tumbling over from the opposite corner to make up friends again with her old admirer, who took her on his knee, and instituted particular inquiries into the state of her health. “Was she better—much better—able to run half a mile without getting tired?” “Yes,” she declared, “more than ’at; ’ook at mine face; ma says it has got fat;” and she put up her little hands to her cheeks, and so drew all the flesh forward for Mr. Croft to contemplate. “Fat, are you, little one?” broke in Mr. Stewart; “not much of that, I fear; let me look at you. She does seem considerably better,” he added, addressing Mrs. Dudley. “You will take her to see Mr. Henry, though, will you not?” Heather answered that she certainly should, whereupon Lally insisted on knowing exactly who Mr. Henry was, and being informed a doctor, declared she would rather not see him. “Other doctor gave me nasty stuff to drink, sour, and Lally did not like him.” “Very ungrateful on your part,” remarked Lucy, “for Doctor Chickton was exceedingly kind to you.” “Didn’t like him,” repeated the child, determinedly; “said sour stuff wasn’t bad to take, and it was dre’ful; said it would make Lally well, and it didn’t. He told ’tories, he did.” “Are you glad you are going back to London?” inquired Mr. Stewart.