Gertrude lighted a candle, and went downstairs, and the rest proceeded rather silently with their meal. In about five minutes Gertrude re-appeared with a grave face. "Well?" They all questioned her, with lips and eyes. "Some one has been here about work," she said, slowly; "but it's rather a dismal sort of job. It is to photograph a dead person." "Gerty, what _do_ you mean?" "Oh, I believe it is quite usual. A lady--Lady Watergate--died to-day, and her husband wishes the body to be photographed to-morrow morning." "It is very strange," said Fanny, "that he should select ladies, young girls, for such a piece of work!" "Oh, it was a mere chance. It was the housekeeper who came, and we happened to be the first photographer's shop she passed. She seemed to think I might not like it, but we cannot afford to refuse work." "But, Gertrude," cried Fan, "do you know what Lady Watergate died of? Perhaps scarlet fever, or smallpox, or something of the sort." "She died of consumption," said Gertrude shortly, and put her arm round Phyllis, who was listening with a curious look in her great, dilated eyes. "I wonder," put in Lucy, "if this poor lady can be the wife of _the_ Lord Watergate?" "I rather fancy so; I know he lives in Regent's Park, and the address for to-morrow is Sussex Place." A name so well known in the scientific and literary world was of course familiar to the Lorimers. They had, however, little personal acquaintance with distinguished people, and had never come across the learned and courteous peer in his social capacity, his frequent presence in certain middle-class circles notwithstanding. Mrs. Maryon, coming up later on for a chat, under pretext of discussing the unsatisfactory Matilda, was informed of the new commission. "Ah," she said, shaking her head, "it was a sad story that of the Watergates." So passionately fond of her as he had been, and then for her to treat him like that! But he took her back at the last and forgave her everything, like the great-hearted gentleman that he was. "And do you mean," she added, fixing her melancholy, humorous eyes on them, "that you young ladies are actually going by yourselves to the house to make a picture of the body?" "I am going--no one else," answered Gertrude calmly, passing over Phyllis's avowed intention of accompanying her. "She always has some dreadful tale about everybody you mention," cried Lucy, indignantly, when Mrs. Maryon had gone. "She will never rest content until there is something dreadful to tell of us." "Yes, I'm sure she regards us as so many future additions to her Chamber of Horrors," said Phyllis, reflectively, with a smile. "And oh," added Fan, "if she would only not compare us so constantly with that poor man who had the studio last year! It makes one positively creep." "Nonsense," said Gertrude; "she is quite as fond of pleasant events as sad ones. Weddings, for instance, she describes with as much unction as funerals."