"Poor woman," answered Lucy, "she must have been in a desperate condition." "You see, miss," said Mrs. Maryon circumstantially, "she had been going on owing money for ever so long, though _we_ knew nothing about it; and at last she was threatened with the bailiffs. Then what must she do but go down to the shop and make off with some of Maryon's bottles while we were at dinner. He found it out, and took one away from her this afternoon when you complained of the noise. Later he missed the second bottle, and went up to Steffany, who was uncorking it and sniffing it, and making believe she wanted to do away with herself." "How unutterably horrible!" Gertrude shuddered. "You heard how she went on when he tried to take it from her. Such strength as she has, too--it was as much as me and Maryon and the girl could do between us to hold her down." "Where has she gone to now?" said Lucy. "Oh, she don't sleep here, you know, miss. She's gone home with Maryon as meek as a lamb; took her bit of supper with us, quite cheerfully." "What will she do, I wonder?" "Ah," said Mrs. Maryon, thoughtfully; "there's no saying what she and many other poor creatures like her have to do. There'd be no rest for any of us if we was to think of that." Gertrude lay awake that night for many hours; the events of the day had curiously shaken her. The story of the miserable Frenchwoman, with its element of grim humour, made her sick at heart. Fenced in as she had hitherto been from the grosser realities of life, she was only beginning to realise the meaning of life. Only a plank--a plank between them and the pitiless, fathomless ocean on which they had set out with such unknowing fearlessness; into whose boiling depths hundreds sank daily and disappeared, never to rise again. * * * * * Mademoiselle Stephanie actually put in an appearance the next morning, and made quite a cheerful bustle over the business of setting her house in order, preparatory to the final flitting. Gertrude passed her on the stairs on her way to the studio, but feigned not to notice the other's morning greeting, delivered with its usual crispness. The woman's mincing, sallow face, with its unabashed smiles, sickened her. Phyllis, who was with her, laughed softly. "She does not seem in the least put out by the little affair of yesterday," she said. "Hush, Phyllis. Ah, there is the studio bell already. No doubt it is Mr. Jermyn," and she unconsciously assumed her most business-like air. A day or two later Mademoiselle Stephanie vanished for ever; and not long afterwards her place was occupied by a serious-looking umbrella-maker, who displayed no hankering for Mr. Maryon's bottles. [Illustration: Decoration] [Illustration: Decoration] CHAPTER VII. A NEW CUSTOMER. _Stately is service accepted, but lovelier service rendered, Interchange of service the law and condition of Beauty._ A. H. CLOUGH.