All this was so frank and open that Mary could not resent the tone of the speaker. And yet she paled at the degradation of the class of labour. "It must be very trying work for a lady," she said. "I mean for a lady born." "Perhaps it is," Connie said thoughtfully. "But it is not so trying as your landlady in the room demanding her back rent, coupled with a threat that if it is not paid tomorrow she will put your boxes into the street. And that has happened to me more than once, though my father was a general officer and my mother the daughter of an archdeacon. I was quite alone in the world then; I will never forget it. Try to fancy what it means for a young friendless girl to be turned into the streets of London! I dream of it at night sometimes. . . . That afternoon I walked into the office of the _Razzle_ and told one of the assistant editors how I stood. It was like dragging the words from me. And he gave me some work to do, and I sat up all night over it. Soon after that I was carrying just one solitary sovereign. But what a lot that little coin meant to me! And that is why I have a tender spot in my heart for that unspeakable old _Razzle_. But I don't know why I am worrying you with all these sordid details." "Go on," Mary said in a hushed, awed voice. "You are opening up a new world to me. You are making me feel ashamed of what I had hitherto regarded as an exemplary life." "We'll go into that presently," Connie said. "I've got to go and see a friend of mine who is ill. We take her work and try to sell it. If it sells, well and good. If not, we say that it has gone, and make up the money amongst us. It sounds wrong, but it is meant in the proper spirit. I shan't be long. Ring the bell and ask the landlady to clear away." Connie vanished from the room, apparently taking all the sunshine with her, and Mary proceeded to ring the bell. She wondered vaguely how many years it was since she had entered that house. She did not hear the landlady address her at first. "Oh, I beg your pardon," she said. "Yes, I am going to stay here for the present with Miss Colam. You are Mrs. Speed. . . . Where have I seen you before? Your face is so very familiar to me. It brings back recollections of my early childhood. You make me feel as if all this has happened before." "I know the feeling, miss," the landlady said. "But I don't suppose you have ever seen me. My very early days were spent on the estate of Sir Ralph Dashwood, of Dashwood Hall. Maybe you have heard of it, miss?" CHAPTER XXXVII. THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS Just for a moment Mary felt inclined to disclose her identity. It warmed her heart and brought tears to her eyes to hear this kind of voice from the past. The wound of separation was too recent for Mary not to feel it keenly. The woman's face was so familiar, too; it reminded the girl oddly of somebody else, somebody that she did not like, but to whom for the moment she could not give a name.