Mary's arrival at the lodging was an event of local interest. Mrs. Shuttleworth, who stood at the door conversing with a neighbour, watched her descent agape. Two children playing on the pavement suspended their game. She told Mrs. Shuttleworth that a lady might ask for her during the day, and, mounting to the garret, shut herself in to wrestle unsuccessfully with her fears of being refused, or forgotten altogether. Would this mother come or not? If not--she shivered; she had been so near to ignominious death that the smell of it had reached her nostrils--if not, the devilish gnawing would be back again directly, and the faint sick craving would follow it; and then there would be a fading of consciousness for the last time, and they would talk about her as "it" and be afraid. But the mother did come. It seemed so wonderful that, even when she sat beside her in the attic, and everything was progressing favourably, Mary could scarcely realise that it was true. She came, and the engagement was made. There are some women who are essentially women's women; Mary was one of them. Mrs. Kincaid, who came already interested, sure that her Philip could make no mistake and wishful to be satisfied, was charmed with her. The pleading tones, the repose of manner, the--for so she described it later--"Madonna face," if they did not go "straight to her heart," mightily pleased her fancy. And of course Mary liked her; what more natural? She was gentle of voice, she had the softest blue eyes that ever beamed mildly under white hair, and--culminating attraction--she obviously liked Mary. "I'm a lonely old woman now my son's been appointed medical officer at the hospital," she said. "It'll be very quiet for you, but you'll bear that, won't you? I do think you'll be comfortable with me, and I'm sure I shall want to keep you." "Quiet for me!" said Mary. "Oh, Mrs. Kincaid, you speak as if you were asking a favour of me, but your son must have told you that--what----I suppose he saved my life!" "That's his profession," answered the old lady brightly; "that's what he had to learn to do." "Ah, but not with hot breakfasts," Mary smiled. "I accept your offer gratefully; I'll come as soon as you like." "Can you manage to go back with us the day after to-morrow? Don't if it inconveniences you; but if you can be ready----" "I can; I shall be quite ready." "Good girl!" said Mrs. Kincaid. "Now you must let me advance you a small sum, or--I daresay you have things to get--perhaps we had better make it this! There, there! it's your own money, not a present; there's nothing to thank me for. Good-afternoon, Miss Brettan; I will write letting you know the train."