Feo’s handsome present to Lola reacted most favorably upon Mrs. Rumbold and came at a moment in that poor woman’s existence when cash was scarce and credit nil. Optimism also had been running a little low. But for this divine gift how many more suicides there would be every year. Mrs. Rumbold was sitting in her workroom in the front of the house, waiting, like Sister Ann, for some one to turn up, when Lola’s taxi stopped at the door, and with a thrill of hope she saw the driver haul out a large dress case on which the initials F. F. were painted. This was followed by Lola, an hour early for her appointment with Lady Cheyne, and they were both met at the top step by the woman who saw manna. “Well,” she cried, shabby and thin, with wisps of unruly hair. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, I will say. I knew I was in for a bitter luck to-day. I read it in the bottom of me cup. Come in, miss, and let’s have a look at what you’ve brought me.” The case was deposited in the middle of the room in which half a dozen headless and legless trunks mounted on a sort of cage were ranged along one wall, out of work and gloomy. Because the driver had been batman to a blood in the 21st Lancers, the case was duly unfastened by him,—a courtesy totally unexpected and acknowledged by Mrs. Rumbold in astonished English. “Thank you very much,” said Lola, with a rewarding smile. “It’s very kind of you.” “Honored and delighted,” was the reply, added to by a full-dress parade salute with the most wonderful waggle before it finally reached the ear and was cut away.—And that meant sixpence extra. So every one was pleased. And when Mrs. Rumbold, with expert fingers, drew out one frock after another, all of them nearly new and bearing the name of a dressmaker who hung to the edge of society by a hyphen, exclamation followed upon exclamation. “Gorblime,” she cried out. “Where in the world did you get ’em? I never see anything like it. It’s a trousseau.” And Lola laughed and said, “Not this time.” And Mrs. Rumbold started again, putting Feo’s astonishing garments through a more detailed inspection. “Eccentric, of course,” she said. “But, my word, what material, and look at these ’ere linings. Pre-war stuff, my dear. Who’s your friend?” And Lola told her. Why shouldn’t she? And extolled Lady Feo’s generosity, in which Mrs. Rumbold heartily concurred. “I know what you want,” she said. “What I did to the last one. Let ’em down at the bottom and put a bit of somethin’ on the top. That’s it, isn’t it?” “Yes,” said Lola. “That’s it. As quickly as you can, Mrs. Rumbold, especially with the day frocks.” “Going away on a visit, dearie?” “No—yes,” said Lola. “I don’t know—but, like you, I live a good deal on hope.”