On the whole her interest as well as her diligence did not flag; but a sense of weariness and monotony would sometimes come after a recurrence of well-known blunders of her pupils, and she missed the sense of going home to refreshment and enjoyment which had once invigorated her. St. Ambrose's Road had had its golden age, but the brightness had been dimmed ever since that festival at Monks Horton. One after another of the happy old society had dropped away. The vicar had received promotion, and she only remained of the former intimates, excepting old Miss Headworth, who was no longer a companion, but whom affection forbade her to desert in feeble old age. Had her thoughts of the old times conjured up a figure belonging to them? There was the well-brushed hat, the natty silk umbrella, the perfect fit of garments, the precise turn-out, nay, the curly lion-shaven poodle, with all his fringes, leaping on her in recognition, and there was that slightly French flourish of the hat, before--with a bounding heart--she met the hand in an English grasp. 'Miss Nugent!' 'Mr. Dutton!' 'I thought I should meet you here!' 'When did you come?' 'Half an hour ago. I came down with George Greenleaf, left my things at the Royal Hotel, and came on to look for you.' 'You will come and spend the evening with us?' 'If you are so good as to ask me. How is Miss Headworth?' 'Very feeble, very deaf; but she will be delighted to see you. There is no fear of her not remembering you, though she was quite lost when Mrs. Egremont came in yesterday.' 'Mrs. Egremont!' he repeated with a little start. 'Mrs. Mark. Ah! we have got used to the name--the Honourable Mrs. Egremont, as the community insist on calling her. What a sunny creature she is!' 'And Miss Egremont, what do you hear of her?' 'She writes long letters, poor child. I hope she is fairly happy. Are you come home for good, or is this only a visit?' 'I have no intention of returning. I have been winding up my good cousin's affairs at Melbourne.' Mary's heart bounded again with a sense of joy, comfort, and protection; but she did not long keep Mr. Dutton to herself, for every third person they met gladly greeted him, and they were long in getting to St. Ambrose's Road, now dominated by a tall and beautiful spire, according to the original design. They turned and looked in at the pillared aisles, stained glass, and handsome reredos. 'Very different from our struggling days,' said Mr. Dutton. 'Yes,' said Mary, with half a sigh. 'There's the new vicar,' as he passed with a civil nod. 'He has three curates, and a house of Sisters, and works the parish excellently.' 'You don't speak as if you were intimate.' 'No. His womankind are rather grand--quite out of our beat; and in parish work I am only an estimable excrescence. It is very well that I am not wanted, for Miss Headworth requires a good deal of attention, and it is only the old Adam that regrets the days of importance. Ah, do you see?'