She looked at her watch when she got back to the street, and found, to her horror, that she had been very nearly an hour away from the nurse and her charge. The carriage was waiting at the gate, and she had to encounter the full fire of her servants' gaze as she crossed the road and went into the gardens. Yes, there was the baby's blue-velvet pelisse resplendent at the end of an avenue, Clarissa walked quickly to meet him. "My darling!" she cried. "Has he been waiting for his mamma? I hope he has not been tired of the gardens, nurse?" "Yes, ma'am, he have been tired," replied Mrs. Brobson, with an outraged air. "There ain't much in these gardens to keep a baby of his age amused for an hour at a stretch; and in a east wind too! It's right down cutting at that corner." "Why didn't you take him home in the carriage, nurse? It would have been better than running any risk of his catching cold." "What, and leave you without a conveyance, ma'am? I couldn't have done that!" "I was detained longer than I expected to stay. O, by the bye, you need not mention to Miss Granger that I have been making a call. The people I have been to see are--are in humble circumstances; and I don't want her to know anything about it." "I hope I know my duty, ma'am," replied Mrs. Brobson stiffly. That hour's parading in the gardens, without any relief from her subordinate, had soured her temper, and inclined her to look with unfavourable eyes upon the conduct of her mistress. Clarissa felt that she had excited the suspicion of her servant, and that all her future meetings with her brother would involve as much plotting and planning as would serve for the ripening of a political conspiracy. * * * * * CHAPTER XXXIII. ONLY A PORTRAIT-PAINTER.