"We shall not see him any more. We shall live a glorious, lonely, independent life. I shall study humanity from some lofty garret window among the stars. London shall be my bark and my bride, as the old songs about the Rovers used to say. All the weaknesses of humanity shall reveal themselves to me in the people next door to us and over the way. I'll study in the British Museum! I'll spend hours in the National Gallery! I'll lie under the trees in Epping Forest! I _think_ I'll go to the gallery of a theatre! _Liberte, liberte, cherie!_" And Miss Grey proceeded to chant from the "Marseillaise" with splendid energy as she walked up and down the room with clasped hands of mock heroic passion. "You said something about a man and a brother just now, dear," Miss Blanchet gently interposed. "I have something to tell you about a man and a brother. _My_ brother is back again in London." Miss Blanchet made this communication in the tone of one who is trying to seem as if it would be welcome. "Your brother? He has come back?" Miss Grey did not like to add, "I am so sorry," but that was exactly what she would have said if she had spoken her mind. "Yes, my dear--quite reformed and as steady as can be, and going to make a great name in London. Oh, you may trust him to this time--you may indeed." Miss Grey's handsome and only too expressive features showed signs of profound dissatisfaction. "I couldn't help telling him that we were going to live in London--one's brother, you know." "Yes, one's brother," Miss Grey said with sarcastic emphasis. "They are an affectionate race, these brothers! Then he knows all about our expedition? Has he been here, Mary?" "Oh, no, dear; but he wrote to me--such beautiful letters! Perhaps you would like to read them?" Miss Grey was silent, and was evidently fighting some battle with herself. At last she said: "Well, Mary dear, it can't be helped, and I dare say he won't trouble to come very often to see _us_. But I hope he will come as often as you like, for you might be terribly lonely. I don't care to know anybody. I mean to study human nature, not to know people." "But you have some friends in London, and you are going to see them." "Oh--Lucy Money; yes. She was at school with us, and we used to be fond of each other. I think of calling to see her, but she may be changed ever so much, and perhaps we shan't get on together at all. Her father has become a sort of great man in London, I believe--I don't know how. They won't trouble us much, I dare say."