“I could not know you would call, Florence,” said Mrs. Challoner very gently. She might have added, “since you have not called for more than a week,” but she refrained, partly because she did not wish to reproach, and partly because she was by no means sure that under any circumstances would she have made an exception of Florence Brand. “It does not matter,” Mrs. Brand answered. “I don’t suppose either of us lost much. But if Charlie is so weak and so unfit to take care of himself, it’s a bad outlook for you, poor dear, and you are worn to a thread paper already.” “Won’t you turn back with me, and have a cup of tea with us?” invited the younger lady. “No, thanks,” said Mrs. Brand. “Mr. Brand does not like me to be out alone after dark, and already it will be dark before I get home. No, never mind; I’ve heard how Charlie is and I’ve seen you and the boy, and, by the way, Lucy, through having been left so much with Pollie, I do believe little Hugh is catching her horrid Essex accent.” “Well, then he must let it go again!” retorted Mrs. Challoner with some spirit. More than once she had silenced a reflection that her sister, with her well appointed nursery and her lady “mother’s help,” with no duty beyond attendance on the two little Brands, both older than Hugh, might have invited a visit from her nephew while his father lay at death’s door, and his mother and her solitary servant wrestled with sick nursing and housewifery. She had said to herself that Florence had not reflected on the struggle it was, and would have been quite ready to give help if she had been asked for it. But that could not be, though Lucy had conquered her insurgent independence sufficiently to give one or two broad hints, which had fallen dead. Yet it did seem hard that Florence, so slow to consider, should be so quick to criticise! “Well, as things are going on so nicely, I suppose we shall see you at our place soon,” said Mrs. Brand. “I should think you ought to take Charlie for some drives before the weather gets cold. It would be a good thing for him to have a real change. It might have saved much, if only he had taken one in time. Jem and I are thinking of running down to Brighton next Saturday. Jem can stay till Tuesday morning, and maybe I’ll persuade him to leave me there for a day or two longer. It’s such a rest to get away from one’s housekeeping and one’s children and one’s callers! I can assure you I’m a very busy woman, Lucy,” she laughed, “though I see by your face that you don’t believe it. I might well envy you your nice homely little house, with only Pollie to control. Why, our table decorations alone are a perpetual worry, and the cook’s temper is awful. Ta-ta! Don’t bring Charlie to see us till I am sure to be back at home.” They parted and Lucy Challoner went on. The little interview had not done her good. She began to feel that she was very tired—tired in body now, and tired in soul, with the sense of a steep duty stretching before her.