Miss Sampson wasn’t in, but her aunt, Mrs. M’Alister, was, the smiling servant-maid told Miss Merivale, and led the way into the front sitting-room. The boys ran upstairs. Miss Merivale heard them shouting to their mother that a lady wanted her, and she sat down on a chair near the door, trembling all over. The room was the ordinary lodging-house sitting-room; but though there was a litter of toys on the worn carpet, it had evidently been carefully swept and dusted that morning, and there was a brown jug filled with fresh daffodils on the centre table. On the side table near Miss Merivale there was a pile of books. She looked at the titles as she waited for a step on the stairs--_The Civil Service Geography, Hamblin Smith’s Arithmetic_, one or two French Readers, a novel by George MacDonald, and a worn edition of Longfellow’s Poems. Miss Merivale wondered if they all belonged to Rhoda. She was not kept waiting very long. Almost before she had finished looking at the books she heard someone coming down the stairs, and the door opened to admit a tall, angular woman, whose brown hair was thickly streaked with grey. Miss Merivale found herself unable to begin at once to make the inquiries she had come to make, and fell back on the programmes she wanted typewritten. Mrs. M’Alister eagerly promised that Rhoda would undertake the work. She had not a typewriter of her own, but a friend would lend the use of hers, and Miss Merivale might rely on the work being done punctually. “It is very kind of Miss Desborough to recommend Rhoda,” she said in her anxious voice. “It is difficult to get work in London, we find.” “You have lately come from Australia, have you not?” asked Miss Merivale gently. Mrs. M’Alister was too simple-minded to discern the profound agitation that lay beneath Miss Merivale’s quiet manner. And the kind voice and kind, gentle face of her visitor led her to be more confidential than was her wont with strangers. “Yes, we came back just before Christmas. When my husband died, I felt I must come home. My brothers offered to help me with the boys. Rhoda has taken the youngest down to one of his uncles to-day. But it’s only in Essex; she will be back to-night.” She said the last words hurriedly, as if afraid of wearying her visitor. She little knew how Miss Merivale was hanging on her words. “Your niece must be a great comfort to you,” Miss Merivale said, after a moment’s pause. “Has she always lived with you?”