A week later, Jehane traveled across London to Top-bury Terrace, bringing with her Glory, aged nine, Riska, aged six, and her youngest child, Eustace, who was the same age as Kathleen. Jehane was now in her thirty-seventh year, a striking brooding type of woman. As her face had grown thinner and her cheeks had lost their color, the gipsy blackness of her appearance had become more noticeable. She still had a fine figure, so that men in public conveyances would furtively lower their papers to gaze at her. There clung about her an atmosphere of adventure, of which she was not entirely unaware. She was unconquerably romantic, and would spin herself stories in the silence of her fancy of a love that was crushing in its intensity. No one would have guessed from the hard little lines about the corners of her eyes and mouth that this imaginative tenderness formed part of her character. Since the birth of Eustace her hair had fallen out in handfuls and she had adopted a style of dressing it that was distinctly unbecoming. She had had her combings made up into an affair which Glory called “Ma's mat.” It consisted of half-a-dozen curls, sewn together in rows like sausages, which she pinned across the top of her head so that they made a fringe along her forehead. It gave her an old-fashioned look of prim severity. Jehane retained for Nan an affection which was partly genuine and partly habit; but she resented Nan's youthful appearance with slow jealous anger, attributing it to freedom from anxiety and the possession of money. As for Nan, her attitude was one of gentle and atoning apology for her happiness. “I'm so glad you brought the children yourself, Janey.” “And who could have brought them? I'm not like you--I only keep two servants. When this scheme of Ocky's has turned out all right, perhaps it may be different.” She turned swiftly on Nan with latent defiance, as though challenging her to express doubt. “I'm sure both Billy and I hope it will. Wouldn't it be splendid to see Ocky really a big man?” “It would be a good deal more than splendid. It would mean the end of little houses and cheap servants and neighbors that you can't introduce to your father's friends. It would mean the end of pinching and scraping to save a penny. And it would mean a chance for my girls.” Nan slipped an arm into hers and hugged it. “Dear old thing, I think I understand. And when is Ocky coming over to tell us all about it? He gave us hardly any details in his letter.” Jehane became evasive. “He's naturally very busy. The chance developed so suddenly that he's hardly had time to turn round. It came to him through a client at the office. Mr. Playfair had noticed him at his desk as he passed in and out to see Mr. Wagstaff. He's told Ocky since that he spotted him at once and said to himself, 'If ever I want a chap with-business push and legal knowledge, that's my man.'” “And he's never talked with him?”