"Not when the other steed has plenty of oats to spare," Mary laughed. "What do you think of that for an epigram? If painting fails, I shall take to literature. I'm quite sure that I shall be as good an author as an artist. Don't think me hard or unsympathetic, Connie. I know how good you are, I know that you would cheerfully share your last shilling with me, little as I deserve it. And I am going to do the same by you. I have some three pounds left of the money I borrowed from that convenient relative at the pawnshop, and I calculate that I can raise quite two hundred pounds altogether. Within a short time you will find fresh work to do." Connie's tears were falling freely now. The burst of grief seemed to do her good, for the sunny April smile flashed out again. "You shall do as you like, dearest," she said. "Pride is a very sinful luxury for people in my position. And I had forgotten all about that Pandora's box of yours. It is just possible that on the strength of my _Wheezer_ work I may get a commission from the _Honeysuckle Weekly_. I believe they pay a slightly better price than the other papers. Let us have an early lunch, and then I can go the round of the offices. Don't worry if I am back late. And you can have a good long afternoon at the postcards." Mary had a long afternoon at the postcards indeed, for tea had been a thing of the past for some time, and as yet Connie had not returned. Her head was aching now and her hands were stiff with the toil. How hot and stifling it was, how different to the coolness of the dower house. And Grace was there by this time, doubtless. Mary's day-dreams vanished suddenly at the sound of a cab outside. Connie stepped out of the cab, followed by a tall, manly figure in a frock coat. From his quiet air and manner Mary put the stranger down at once as a doctor. She had little time to speculate as to that, for she saw to her distress that Connie's hat was off and that her head was bandaged up with a handkerchief. She staggered as she reached the pavement, and would have fallen but for the man by her side. Mary flew to the door with words of quick sympathy on her lips. She could see a curious tender smile on Connie's lips; her face was red; her eyes were shining with some great happiness. "Not much the matter," she said. "I got jumbled up in the Strand, and the side-slipping of a motor threw me under a dray. The wheels did not go over me, and I have not come home to die or anything of that kind. I got a blow on the head, and I suppose I fainted. When I came to myself I was in Charing Cross Hospital. Dr. Newcome was very kind to me, and insisted on seeing me home in a cab. Strange as it may seem, Dr. Newcome is an old acquaintance of mine, Mary. This is Miss Dashwood."