Mrs. Fordyce was silent, not knowing very well how to answer. She saw many difficulties ahead, yet hesitated to chill the girl's young enthusiasm, which seemed a beautiful and a heavenly thing even to the woman of the world, who believed that it could never come to fruition. 'There is something else which might be done. What would you say to Madame Bonnemain coming here to live with you as housekeeper and chaperon?' 'If you, knowing us both, think it would be a happy arrangement, I shall be happy,' Gladys said; and the wisdom of the reply struck Mrs. Fordyce. Certainly, in many respects Gladys spoke and acted like a woman who had tasted the experience of life. 'My love, anybody could live with you, and unless sorrow and care have materially changed Henrietta Bonnemain, anybody could live with her,' she said cheerfully. 'Suppose we take a little trip to Belgium, and see what can be done to arrange it?' 'Oh yes, that would be delightful. I shall know just at once whether Madame Bonnemain and I can be happy together. Is she a Scotch lady?' 'To the backbone. She was born at Shandon, on the Gairloch, and we went to Brussels to school together. She never came back--married at eighteen, Gladys, and only a wife five years. She has had a hard life,' said Mrs. Fordyce, and her eyes grew dim over the memories of her youth. 'Can we go soon, then?' asked Gladys fervently; 'just when they are finishing the house? Then we could bring Madame back with us.' 'My dear, you will not let the grass grow under your feet, nor allow any one else to loiter by the way,' said Mrs. Fordyce, with a laugh. 'Well, we shall see what Mr. Fordyce has to say to-night to these grand plans.' Some days after that conversation, Mrs. Macintyre was labouring over her washing-tub in her very limited domain in the back court off Colquhoun Street, when a quick, light knock came to her door. 'Come in,' she said, not thinking it worth while to look round, or to lift her hands from the suds. 'Good-morning, Mrs. Macintyre. How are you to-day?' she heard a sweet voice say, and in a moment she became interested and excited. 'Mercy me, miss, is't you? an' me in a perfick potch,' she said apologetically. 'No' a corner for ye to step dry on, nor a seat to sit doon on. Could ye no' jist tak' a walk the length o' the auld place or I redd up a wee?' 'No, no, Mrs. Macintyre,' replied Gladys, with a laugh. 'Never mind, I'll get a seat somewhere. I have come to see you very particularly, and I'm not going to take any walks till our business is settled. And are you quite well?' ''Deed, I'm jist middlin',' said the good woman, and then, with one extraordinary sweep of her bare arm, she gathered all the soiled linen off the floor and pushed it under the bed, then vigorously rubbing up a chair, she spread a clean apron on it, and having persuaded Gladys to sit down, stood straight in front of her, looking at her with a species of adoring admiration.