She hadn't the least idea of what a "combined" might happen to be, but was not going to display her ignorance twice within the first three minutes. Mrs. Burling led the way up a couple of steep flights of stairs, into a smallish room that she herself probably thought charmingly harmonious and attractive. Its walls were covered with a dull yellowish paper whereon was a design of pink poppies as big as one's head, with ramping green leaves of a size to correspond. There were two cupboards painted white, but picked out with green, while the threadbare carpet was likewise of a verdant hue. By the window was a writing-table, covered with an ink-stained emerald cloth, and the wicker arm-chair that stood before it tried to render itself cosy and enticing by means of a couple of thin cushions--both green, sure enough, but scarcely a happy combination of the shades of that colour to be reposing cheek by jowl. In the corner stood a spotlessly white fluffy-looking bed; there was a wardrobe with a disfiguring mirror for the door; a washing-stand--with china pink and green--altogether it was complete enough, but oh!--Evarne's artistic soul shuddered. However, she had made up her mind that the poor must be easily pleased, and on learning that she could become mistress of this domain for ten shillings weekly, inclusive, she accepted the position without demur. "'Ave you got any more luggage at the station?" inquired the landlady, "because my Tommy's got a 'and-cart that he can bring it along in." Evarne said that the bag she had left in the hall downstairs was all she owned in that direction. "It's my custom to ask for part of the rent in advance, miss," promptly announced Mrs. Burling. Without comment, Evarne meekly opened her purse and produced half-a-sovereign. "Send up my bag, please," she said, and in another five minutes found herself alone with all her worldly possessions in her first independent home in London. Her new life had indeed started. CHAPTER XV THE PROBLEM OF EXISTENCE By the time darkness fell solitude had become unendurable. She did not know a single person in London whom she could visit, so resolved to go forth into the open streets. Even to see strangers passing and repassing would be better than the companionship of her own haunting memories. She wandered around aimlessly, half-confused and somewhat entertained by her first contact with busy London after nightfall. She had soon strolled down Victoria Street, and crossed Westminster Bridge, and was amid the activity of the populous and poor south side of the Thames.