"It's the likeliest thing she'd do," he urged, "if her mind was bent that way. How was she to find such a place of herself?--and I wish we had all been smothered before we'd made her home here unhappy, and put her on to think of such a thing." "Father, I don't think her home was made unhappy," said Miss Page. To resolve and to do were one with prompt Abigail Page. Not a moment lost she, now that some sort of clue was given to act upon. That same morning she was on her way to London, attended by John Drench. * * * * * A large handsome double show-room. Brass hooks on the walls and slender bonnet-stands on the tables, garnished with gowns and mantles and head-gear and fal-lals; wide pier-glasses; sofas and chairs covered with chintz. Except for these articles, the room was empty. In a small apartment opening from it, called "the trying-on room," sat Madame Caron herself, taking a comfortable cup of tea and a toasted muffin, after the labours of the day were over. Not that the labours were great at that season: people who require court millinery being for the most part out of town. "You are wanted, if you please, madame, in the show-room," said a page in buttons, coming in to disturb the tea. "Wanted!--at this hour!" cried Madame Caron, as she glanced at the clock, and saw it was on the stroke of six. "Who is it?" "It's a lady and gentleman, madame. They look like travellers." "Go in and light the gas," said madame. "Passing through London and requiring things in a hurry," thought she, mentally running through a list of some of her most fashionable customers. She went in with a swimming curtsy--quite that of a Frenchwoman--and the parties, visitors and visited, gazed at each other in the gaslight. _They_ saw a very stylish lady in rich black satin that stood on end, and lappets of point lace: _she_ saw two homely country people, the one in a red comforter, muffled about his ears, the other in an antiquated fur tippet that must originally have come out of Noah's ark. "Is it--Madame Caron?" questioned Miss Abigail, in hesitation. For, you see, she doubted whether it might not be one of Madame Caron's duchesses. "I have the honour to be Madame Caron," replied the lady with her grandest air. Thus put at ease in regard to identity, Miss Page introduced herself--and John Drench, son of Mr. Drench of the Upland Farm. Madame Caron--who had a good heart, and retained amidst her grandeur a vivid remembrance of home and early friends--came down from her stilts on the instant, took off with her own hands the objectionable tippet, on the plea of heat, conducted them into the little room, and rang for a fresh supply of tea and muffins.