The regrets expressed at this parting were perfectly sincere on both sides. Evarne was being swooped off, leaving many mysteries unsolved. Where was Madame Cheape? What would befall the piano that day? Would Mr. Punter try to reclaim any of his stage belongings? Moreover, it appeared that that gentleman's whereabouts were being eagerly inquired after by a number of the leading tradesmen of the district, who had been persuaded to pay cash down for advertisement spaces on the back of the company's programmes, misled by the assurance of a prolonged local tour for "Caledonia's Bard"--a fact that went a long way toward explaining the whole strange business. Jess and Mont both undertook to write and tell Evarne all the news, but ere she well knew how it had come to pass, she found herself in the train being whirled back to London. Another act in the "Drama of Reality" had commenced. CHAPTER XXIV "STITCH, STITCH, STITCH!" The house in which Miss Jean Brodie rented a single room stood in a by-street in the heart of Camberwell. Despite the knowledge that any feelings of fastidiousness were now entirely unseemly and out of place, Evarne could not avoid a certain dismay at the prospect of actually residing amid such abject poverty, disorder and squalor. Threading their way between the swarming dirty children, who shouted and played and disputed on every side, numerous as rabbits in a warren, they entered a dark, narrow passage and proceeded to mount the uncarpeted stairs. "My room is on the top floor," explained Miss Brodie, as the first landing was gained. "Rents are very high in London. There are seven separate lots of people living in this house." At this juncture a voice came from one of the half-open doors they were passing-- "What did I do? Why, I says quite perlite-like, ''Ave a drop o' gin, ol' dear,' but she ups and says to me, she says----" But what "she" had responded to this invitation was lost in a peal of laughter from several throats. Miss Brodie looked supercilious. "That's Mrs. Harbert. You won't need to talk to her at all. She's not a very respectable old woman. I'm sure I wonder the landlord has her in the house; but there, he doesn't heed anything so long as he gets his rent punctually." Evarne glanced back over her shoulder, and surveyed this wicked personage! She saw a cleanly, neatly-clad, comfortable-looking old dame of about sixty, who still retained traces of unusual good looks. She seemed so good-natured and happy that Evarne inquired with some interest into the character of her misdemeanours. She was more entertained than appalled by the information. The culprit had been an artist's model, and the walls of her room were now absolutely covered with innumerable paintings and drawings depicting herself in the days of her youth, "but with not a decent stitch of clothing among the whole lot, my dear."