"Mr. Swanland seemed to think there was something personal in Lang's utterances, and told him his services could be dispensed with after the following Saturday. Lang claimed a month's notice or four weeks' wages. Mr. Swanland declined to give either. Lang threatened to summon him, at which idea Mr. Swanland laughed. Lang then went to a lawyer, who said he could not summon a trustee. Lang said he would do it for the annoyance of the thing, and so threw away half a sovereign which he now repents, because the case cannot come on. He has got another situation, a very good berth as he styles it. He is to have a (for him) large amount of money to go abroad as consulting manager to some great works in course of formation in Germany. One of the partners is an Englishman, and knew Lang at a time when he was in business on his own account. It will be a good thing for him," and Dolly sighed heavily. Good things came to other people, but not to Mortomley or his wife. "What a simpleton that Mr. Swanland must be!" remarked Mrs. Werner. "For not accepting Archie's offer, I suppose you mean," suggested Mrs. Mortomley. "I do not think so. What does he care about the trade, or the colours, or anything, so long as he can find work for his clerks, and knock up a fresh peg in his office on which to hang up the whole of the estate? Lang says--" "Dolly dear, I do not care to hear what Lang says," interrupted Mrs. Werner. "I do not imagine that the utterances of an _employée_ concerning his employer can be very profitable under any circumstances." "Perhaps not," agreed Mrs. Mortomley; but she sighed again. "Did you ever get your trunks away from Homewood," inquired Mrs. Werner, in order to change the subject. "Yes," was the short reply. "Did Mr. Swanland send them to you, or had you to apply for them again, or--" "Mr. Swanland did not send them to me," said Dolly, as her friend paused. "I applied for them, and he first agreed I should have the boxes, and then thought it was a useless form having them removed from Homewood. So I said nothing more on the subject, and neither did he; but they are here." "How did they come?" asked Mrs. Werner. "That I cannot tell you. One Sunday evening, when I returned from church, they were piled up in the kitchen. I promised never to say how they were got away or who brought them; and, indeed, though half tempted to send them back again, I was thankful to have a few decent clothes to wear again once more." Mrs. Werner looked down at her friend, and smiled as her glance wandered over the pale grey silk dress and black velvet upper skirt and bodice in which Dolly had thought fit to bemoan her lot. Would Dolly ever be Dolly, she wondered, without her masses of hair--her pretty dresses--her small effects of jewellery--her little graceful knickknacks--and purely feminine deceptions. No; they were an integral part of my heroine's imperfect character.