This morning she asked a further question. What could it all mean? Had Ethel refused him? Refused—because of his lost wealth! Fulvia's heart bounded at the thought. She would not have done so in Ethel's place. Certainly he had not the look of one who has gained his heart's desire. Rather, it was the look of one bracing himself to the endurance of trouble and difficulty. If he had asked Ethel, and she had accepted him, would he wear such a look? Yet they had been out together after dark—walking a lonely road. What could it mean but a proposal on his part, and acceptance or refusal on hers? "Have I been mad not to see?" she thought, seated alone in the morning-room, work in hand. "Why have I not understood? But Ethel will have him sooner or later. She will not hold out long. And I—I cannot stay to see! I am glad my money is gone. That will be my excuse to run away. I could not live here, looking on. I shall be a governess." Then she heard Nigel saying "Fulvia," and looked up, to answer, "Yes." "Are we to start on the expedition now?" she said at length, rising. "I am ready, if you wish it. Daisy had better come as well." Nigel assented absently, and Fulvia left the room. Coming back, she wore a look of vexation. "Daisy has gone out, no one knows where, and Anice declines. She says she can't." "Anice's 'can't' is equivalent to 'won't.' I don't think it matters. The decision will rest with you." "Why should it?" "You are the eldest daughter, are you not?" Fulvia shrugged her shoulders slightly, but in words she raised no objection. Fifteen minutes' quick walk brought them to No. 9 Bourne Street, hardly a word being uttered by the way. As Fulvia had said, it was a respectable locality. The houses were of white stucco, with neat porches and balconies, and tidy oblong gardens behind. A narrow strip of enclosed grass, with small trees, occupied the centre of the street from one end to the other. Beside the porch was one window: and two windows above were capped by yet two others. A cosy little house, no doubt, containing possibilities of comfort. But after the Grange—ah, there was the rub? Everything in this world is comparative! What one man counts to be luxury, because of what went before, another counts to be beggarliness, from the same cause. Nigel had the key, and he let Fulvia in, following her. They tramped steadily over the interior, from bottom to top, hearing the echo of their own feet on the bare boards. Reaching again the front ground-floor room, when all had been inspected, Nigel said— "Well?" "Is this the best we can afford?" "Forty pounds a year, not counting taxes. I dare not go beyond that. If things did not promise to be a degree better than we thought at first, we could not venture on so much." "Madre will not like an upstairs drawing-room." "I'm afraid there are a groat many things that she will not like." "There will be a study for you." "Behind this? Why not make it a morning-room for everybody?"