“But, Mr. Shaddles,” said the dazed girl, “that is awfully kind of you--most kind. I’d love to come, but I can’t come to-morrow morning.” “Half-past eight to-morrow morning,” he blinked at her. “Don’t keep me, I’m in a hurry.” He went down the steps, mounted his car, and she stood watching him until he was one with the traffic in Theobalds Road. So great was the shock of the lawyer’s generosity that this was the first news she told the sceptical Lizzy. “There’s been something strange about him for the last two days,” decided that young lady. “Softening of the brain, I think. He didn’t mention about putting up my salary? Maybe he’s not so far gone as that. I shouldn’t take too much notice; he’ll probably change his mind to-morrow. Three pounds a week? He must be mad! I’ll bet he’ll come down to the office in the morning in his pyjamas, playing a cornet, and calling himself Julius Cæsar.” The clerks had gone; Lizzy was alone in her office; she had stayed behind to type an interminable memorandum of association, which was never finished after Lois had told the story of what had happened at the house that day. “I think Mike’s right,” said Lizzy, nodding vigorously. “That house is too full of tricks. I hate the idea of leaving Selwyn----” “You mean Lord Moron?” “He’s Selwyn to me,” said Lizzy calmly. “I’m going to the pictures with him to-morrow night. He’s a nice boy, that. What he wants is a mother’s care and he’s never had it.” “And you’re going to be the mother?” Lois laughed, and then, seriously: “I can’t leave at once. You must please yourself what you do. I promised Lady Moron I would stay.” Lizzy pulled a long face. “I can’t desert you, but I’ll tell you straight, that I’d rather sleep on the top shelf of a mortuary than at Chester Square to-night. I’ll go with you, but I’m doing you a favour. Put it down in your book. As to old Shaddles he’ll be in charge of a keeper to-morrow. If anybody else but you had told me about that three pounds a week business, I’d have known they were lying. And now, what do you say to coming back to Charlotte Street and pretending we are poor again?” To Lois there could have been no more attractive way of spending the evening. The old room with its shabby furniture, its faded chintzes, was home; and even the squalling of playing children in the street had a special charm which Lois had never observed before. There was too a welcome awaiting them. Old Mackenzie saw them through the window of his room and came down to greet them in the passage. He was pathetically disappointed when he learnt they were not staying the night, but cheered up after Lizzy told him their plans. “Let us ask him up to dinner,” said Lois, as she sat on the kitchen table, watching the girl manipulating the frying-pan. Lizzy nodded. She was a thought distrait, and later Lois learnt the reason.