It was not easy, at any time, to obtain a clear and collected answer to a question from Mrs. Simpson. But in her present state of excitement the difficulty was immensely increased. Her language--partly in honour of Mr. Bragg--was so flowery, and she kept darting up every discursive cross-alley which opened out of the main line of talk in so bewildering a fashion, as to become at moments unintelligible. And it was a long time before any of the party elicited from her how it was that she came to be in London. At length, however, it appeared that "Bassy" was entrusted with a commission to buy a pianoforte; and having found a substitute to take his organ and attend to his pupils for a week, he and his wife had suddenly resolved to take a holiday in London together. "I had, of course, intended to seek you out, dear Mrs. Bransby," she said; "ever mindful, as I must be, of the many kind favours I have received from you and"--here she gulped dangerously; but recovered herself and went on--"from all the family. But we came away in such a hurry at the last, a cheap excursion train being, in fact, our immediate motive." "Locomotive," put in Martin jocosely. "Quite so," said Amelia, with the utmost suavity. "A very proper correction." Then, seeing his mischievous face dimpling with laughter, she exclaimed, "Oh, of course!--_locomotive_. Very good, Martin! Ah, I am as absent as ever, you see!" Here she playfully shook her head until sundry metallic bobs upon her bonnet fell off, and had to be hunted for and picked up. "Well, so it was. I was hurried away by Bassy's impetuosity--although, in justice to him, I must state that the time bills were peremptory, and there was no margin for delay or deliberation--almost without a carpet bag! I had no opportunity, therefore, of inquiring of any mutual friend in Oldchester for your address." "There are scarcely any who know it, or care to know it," said Mrs. Bransby, in a low voice. "Oh, pardon me, dear Mrs. Bransby! No, no; that must not be said, for the honour of Oldchester! Your memory is affectionately cherished by all the more refined and sympathetic souls among us. Only last week Mr. Crump, the butcher, was respectfully inquiring for news of you. You remember Crump! A worthy man, whose spirit--notwithstanding the dictum of the Swan of Avon--is by no means 'subdued to what it works in,' beyond a transient greasiness, which lies merely on the surface." "Yes; I remember him very well. But who, then, was it who directed you to this house?" asked Mrs. Bransby, hoping that her guest was not aware why Martin had suddenly retired behind the window curtains in a paroxysm of laughter. "Ah! That, again, is one of the most extraordinary circumstances! Who do you think it was?" "I cannot tell at all." "Guess!" "Miss Piper, perhaps," suggested Ethel.