"No, no," Grace cried, "you are all right and I am wrong. I know perfectly well that if I stay here like this I shall die. Therefore, with the deepest gratitude, I have decided to accept Lady Dashwood's offer. Oh, if you only knew how I long for the sight of a green tree----" "Then that is settled," Lady Dashwood said, "you are to come and take Mary's place without delay. I will come up on Saturday and fetch you. And I decline to hear a single word of thanks--it is a mutual pleasure, Grace. Now, let us have the cup of tea, and then I must be going. And I am very glad that Mary has made friends with you girls." Lady Dashwood departed presently, and for a little time the girls were silent. Grace lay there looking out of the window, her eyes filled with happy tears. Already in her imagination she could hear the murmur of the trees over her head. "I can't help it," she said presently, "I feel as if a great doctor had told me to live after another surgeon had passed the sentence of death. An hour ago I did not seem to care what happened, now I can feel the joy of life in my finger tips. My ambition is singing a tale of hope in my ears. . . . But what about you both? What are you going to do?" "Yes, what are we going to do?" Connie said in tones of dismay, "we have no money. Mary was too proud to ask her relation for any, which was quite right. Unless, perhaps, Mary has recovered her purse, in which case----" "Well, I haven't," Mary explained, "I forgot all about it. Still, it is only a matter of a day or so, and, meanwhile, I have something that will do quite as well. I daresay Grace's landlady will find us a spare bedroom." "I believe there is such a thing in the house," Grace said dubiously, "but my landlady is by no means a nice person, and she has done very well lately. She is sure to ask to see your boxes, and if you tell her the truth she will not believe you. Still, you must find quarters somewhere for tonight, and it would do no harm to have the woman up and see her." The landlady came, hard of face and none too pleasant of manner. She listened in grim disapproval. She did not wish to insinuate anything, but she had suffered in the past. She attached a value to the possession of personal belongings, she had little faith in lodgers who came without them. To all this Mary listened with a heightened colour and a rising temper. "I suppose a week, or say a fortnight's rent in advance would do for you?" she asked. "It seems the likeliest arrangement for a woman of your stamp." "Nothing better, miss," the woman retorted, "money talks. Pay a sovereign on account, and I shall have no more to say. Pay me, and I'll treat you well; on the other hand----" "There is going to be no 'other hand,'" Mary replied with her head in the air. "Perhaps you will be so good as to change me a five-pound note?" The woman gasped. She could not possibly do such a thing.