He knew that 50 Elm Avenue was still unlet, and he went next day to see his former landlord. The house was not only to be let, it was for sale. The price asked was three thousand pounds. Philip had nearly four thousand in bank. He accepted without hesitation, and the bargain was sealed on the spot. His lawyer attended to the details of the purchase. Philip had the place painted and papered from top to bottom, he disposed of some superfluous furniture, and in about a month from the time of his decision he was reinstalled in his old home. The furnishing was exactly the same as before, perhaps a trifle richer. He had been very careful to introduce no change into the studio. The only addition visible was the portrait of the little Italian boy that Dora had painted, and that he had secured by the help of the dealer, who, following Philip's instructions, offered her twenty-five guineas for it. He engaged fresh servants; not one of the former staff was retained. If ever he should be granted the happiness of seeing Dora return to the nest, he wanted to have there no witnesses of the Belgravian scenes to recall her painful memories. He set to work ardently and full of hope. Every day Hobbs came, unknown to Dora, to bring him news of her mistress. Hobbs had told Dora that No. 50 was let, then that it was inhabited, but by Dr. Templeton's orders she did not divulge the name of the occupant. Dora was sad to hear the news, but she merely said, "I am surprised that it has been empty so long; it is such a pretty house, so convenient, so quiet, so" ... She could go no further, her emotion was too strong. Presently, with an effort to regain command over herself, she added, "May that house be an abode of happiness to those who inhabit it!" Hobbs was sorry to have spoken, and yet she was burning to say to Dora, "Why, it is your husband who lives there, and who holds out his arms to you; go and throw yourself into them." But she had promised to keep the secret, and she did not break her word. Dora did not gain strength so fast as her friends had hoped she would. Excitement, will-power, and courage had stood her in good stead at the start, but she had started too rapidly, and she had not the physical strength to carry her far at the same pace. She had unfortunately counted a little without herself. In this new existence, monotonous and almost without aim, there was not enough to satisfy her lofty character, her bright and energetic nature, which cried out for movement and an intellectual life. She still boasted of enjoying the pleasures of poverty and of preferring them to the others, but she was, in these days, chiefly brought in contact with the dulness and the bareness of poverty. Discouragement invaded her heart, she began to feel that she was vegetating and not living. Her courage was forsaking her. Later might come despair and a desire to have done with the world.