Presently she began to feel faint rather than hungry, and she went into the refreshment room and asked for a glass of milk. While she was drinking it a gentleman came in. She saw that it was Lord Wolfer, and set down the glass and waited. The man seemed totally changed. The sternness had disappeared from his face, and his eyes were bright with his newly found happiness. "Why have you come?" she asked dully. "I had to," he said. "I--I wanted to tell you--you were right--yes, you were right! I was blind. We were both blind! We are going abroad to-day--together. She has asked for you--almost directly--almost as if she--she suspected that you had brought us together! I told her that you had been sent for by Sophia. I wish you were not going; I wish you were coming with us!" Nell shook her head wearily; and he nodded. He seemed years younger; and his old stiffness had disappeared from his manner, the grave solemnity from his voice. "That is my train," said Nell. He looked at her wistfully, as if he longed to take her back with him, but Nell walked resolutely down the platform, and he put her into a first-class compartment. Then he got some papers and magazines, and laid them on the seat beside her. It was evident that he did not know how sufficiently to express his gratitude. "Your going is the only alloy to my--our happiness!" he said. Nell smiled drearily. "You will soon forget me," she could not help saying. "Never! Don't think that!" he said. "Have you wired to say that you are coming?" Nell shook her head. "I will do so," he said. The guard made his last inspection of the carriages, and Wolfer held her hand. "Good-by," he said. "And--and thank you!" The words were conventional enough, but Nell understood, and was comforted. As the train left the station, the boys from the book stall came along with the early edition of the evening papers. "Paper, miss?" asked one, standing on the step. "Evening paper? Sudden death of the Hearl of Hangleford!" But Nell had no desire for an evening paper, and, shaking her head, sank back with a sigh. CHAPTER XXV. Beaumont Buildings is scarcely the place one would choose in which to spend a summer's day; for, though they reach unto the heavens, they are, like most of their kind, somewhat stuffy, the dust of the great city in all their nooks and corners, and the noise of the crowded life penetrates even to the topmost flat. The agent, a man of fine imagination and unlimited descriptive powers, states that Beaumont Buildings is "situated in a fashionable locality"; but though Fashion may dwell close at hand, and its carriages sometimes roll luxuriously through the street in which the Buildings tower, the street is a grimy and rather squalid one, in which most of the houses are shops--shops of the cheap and useful kind which cater for the poor.