"I think you may take one consolation to yourself, Anna--that whatever you might urge against her, it would most likely make not the smallest difference one way or the other. With Tod I am sure it would not. If he set his mind on marrying Sophie Chalk, other people's grumbling would not turn him from it." "It might depend a little on what the grumblings were," returned Anna, as if fighting for the last word. "But there; let it drop. I would rather say no more." She took up a photograph book, and we began looking over it together. "Good gracious! Here's Miss Cattledon? Small waist and all!" Anna laughed. "She had it taken in Bath, and sent it to William. He had only asked her for it in joke." "So those studs have never turned up, Anna?" "No. I wish they would. I should pray night and morning for it, if I thought it would do no one an injury." "Johnny!" called out Sir John. "Yes, sir." "Come you, and take my hand for five minutes. I have just remembered a note I ought to have written this afternoon." "I shall be sure to play badly," I said to Lady Whitney, who had fallen to Sir John in cutting for partners. "Oh, my dear, what does it matter?" she kindly answered. "I don't mind if you do. I do not play well myself." * * * * * The next morning Miss Cattledon went out to ten-o'clock daily service. Miss Deveen said she had taken to the habit of doing so. I wondered whether it was for the sake of religion, or for that grey-haired curate who did the prayers. Sitting by ourselves, I told Miss Deveen of the commission I had from Mrs. Todhetley; and somehow, without my intending it, she gathered a little more. "Go by all means, and learn what you can, Johnny. Go at once. I don't think you need, any of you, be afraid, though," she added, laughing. "I have seen very much of boy-and-girl love; seen that it rarely comes to anything. Young men mostly go through one or two such episodes before settling seriously to the business of life." The omnibus took me to Oxford Street, and I found my way from thence to Torriana Square. It proved to be a corner house, its front entrance being in the square. But there was a smaller entrance on the side (which was rather a bustling street), and a sort of office window, on the wire blind of which was written, in white letters, "Mr. Smith, wine-merchant." A wine-merchant! Well, I was surprised. Could there be any mistake? No, it was the right number. But I thought there must be, and stood staring at the place with both eyes. That _was_ a come-down. Not but that wine-merchants are as good as other people; only Sophie Chalk had somehow imparted the notion of their living up to lords and ladies. I asked at the front-door for Mrs. Smith, and was shown upstairs to a handsome drawing-room. A little girl, with a sallow face, thin and sickly, was seated there. She did not get up, only stared at me with her dark, keen, deep-set eyes.