"We get on very nicely," said Septimus politely, "but I'm afraid you'll have to do some cleaning and dusting to-day. I'm awfully sorry to trouble you. Mrs. Middlemist has returned to England, and may be down this afternoon." A look of dismay came over Wiggleswick's crafty, weather-beaten face. "Well, I'm jiggered. I'm just jiggered," said he. "I'm delighted to hear it," murmured Septimus. "Bring me my shaving-water." "Are you going to get up?" asked Wiggleswick in a tone of disgusted incredulity. "Yes." "Then you'll be wanting breakfast." "Oh, no," said Septimus, with the wan smile that sometimes flickered over his features, "afternoon tea will do--with some bacon and eggs and things." The old man went out grumbling, and Septimus turned to his letter. It was very kind of Emmy, he thought, to write to him so affectionately. He spent the mild, autumn morning on the common consulting the ducks in the pond, and seeking inspiration from the lame donkey, his state of mind being still complicated. The more he reflected on Emmy's letter and on Wiggleswick's views on women the less did he agree with Wiggleswick. He missed Emmy, who had treated him very tenderly since their talk in the moonlight at Hottetôt-sur-Mer; and he missed the boy who, in the later days in Paris, after her return, had conceived an infantile infatuation for him, and would cease crying or go to sleep peacefully if only he could gather a clump of Septimus's hair in his tiny fingers. He missed a thousand gossamer trifles--each one so imperceptible, all added together so significant. He was not in the least cosy and comfortable with his old villain of a serving-man. Thus he looked forward, in his twilight way, to Emmy's coming. He would live, perhaps, sometimes in Nunsmere and sometimes in London. Quite lately, on visiting his bankers, in order to make arrangements for the disposal of his income, he was surprised to find how rich he was; and the manager, an astoundingly well-informed person, explained that a commercial concern in which he held many shares had reached such a pitch of prosperity as to treble his dividends. He went away with the vague notion that commercial companies were models of altruistic generosity. The main point, however, made clear by the exceptionally intelligent manager, being that he was richer by several hundreds a year, he began to dream of a more resplendent residence for Emmy and the boy than the little flat in Chelsea. He had observed that there were very nice houses in Berkeley Square. He wondered how much a year they were, with rates and taxes. For himself, he could perch in any attic close by. He resolved to discuss Berkeley Square with Emmy as soon as she arrived. William Octavius Oldrieve Dix, Member of Parliament, ought to start life in proper surroundings.