"No, I don’t think I shall require my room another night," she answered, when he ventured on a polite inquiry. "I have had to come up rather unexpectedly, and, immediately after breakfast, I shall go out and see the friend with whom I expect to stay while I am in London. I may leave my things here, I suppose?" "Certainly, madam. The room’s yours until the evening." "Thank you. Have you been having good weather in London? It is lovely this morning. And please, can you tell me the best way to get from here to the Edgeware Road?" "Underground, madam, from King’s Cross. It will take you in about ten minutes." Isla thanked him again, and when he laid the morning paper before her she felt that a hotel could be a very comfortable place. She was glad to hear about the Underground, because her riches were not great, and she must be careful about small expenses. About noon she sallied forth on foot to find the Metropolitan station at King’s Cross. She was an absolute stranger to that part of London. True, she had frequently arrived at the great termini, but on these occasions she had simply got into a cab or carriage and been quickly conveyed westward. She enjoyed the new experience--she was in the mood at the moment to enjoy everything and to put the best face even on her difficulties. At the Edgeware Road station she felt confused by the frightful congestion in the streets until, in answer to an inquiry, a friendly policeman told her that the street she wished to find was near the Park end of the wide thoroughfare. "About ten minutes’ walk, Miss," he assured her. And, though a policeman’s ten minutes is an elastic measure, Isla was not unduly tired by the time she reached Agnes Fraser’s door. Before she rang the bell she looked critically up and down Cromer Street, contemplating the fact that for some time to come it would limit her horizon. It was eminently respectable but dull, and some of the houses had a dingy look. Even Mrs. Fraser’s, Isla thought, was less bright and cheerful than usual. The brass furnishings on the doors looked as if they had not been polished for several days, and the raindrops had dried upon the "Apartments" plate which, the last time Isla had seen it, had shone like gold. An exceedingly untidy slip of a girl about sixteen, in response to her ring, opened the door just a few inches. She had a squint in one eye, which perhaps accounted for her cap being set awry on her unkempt hair. "Is Mrs. Fraser at home?" asked Isla imperiously. "Yus, Miss, but she ain’t well, she’s in bed. You can’t see her." This dashed Isla’s fine spirits for a moment. "In bed is she? What is the matter--anything serious?" "She’s ’ad newmonier, been mortial bad, Miss, but she’s gettin’ better. Only if it’s apartments yer after, there ain’t any." She delivered herself of this statement wholly on her own initiative, and in order to get rid as quickly as possible of her questioner.