‘Oh, don’t let that trouble you, dear Miss Shepperson,’ cried the other gaily.  ’In a family, so little difference is made by an extra person.  I assure you it is a perfectly businesslike arrangement; otherwise my husband, who is prudence itself, would never have sanctioned it.  As you know, we are suffering a temporary embarrassment.  I wrote to you yesterday before my husband’s return from business.  When he came home, I learnt, to my dismay, that it might be rather more than a month before he was able to send you a cheque.  I said:  “Oh, I must write again to Miss Shepperson.  I can’t bear to think of misleading her.”  Then, as we talked, that idea came to me.  As I think you will believe, Miss Shepperson, I am not a scheming or a selfish woman; never, never have I wronged any one in my life.  This proposal, I cannot help feeling, is as much for your benefit as for ours.  Doesn’t it really seem so to you?  Suppose you come up with me and look at the room.  It is not in perfect order, but you will see whether it pleases you.

Curiosity allying itself with the allurement which had begun to work upon her feelings, Miss Shepperson timidly rose and followed her smiling guide upstairs.  The little spare room on the second floor was furnished simply enough, but made such a contrast with the bedchamber in the Acton lodging-house that the visitor could scarcely repress an exclamation.  Mrs. Rymer was voluble with promise of added comforts.  She interested herself in Miss Shepperson’s health, and learnt with the utmost satisfaction that it seldom gave trouble.  She inquired as to Miss Shepperson’s likings in the matter of diet, and strongly approved her preference for a plain, nutritive regimen.  From the spare room the visitor was taken into all the others, and before they went downstairs again Mrs. Rymer had begun to talk as though the matter were decided.

‘You will stay and have lunch with me,’ she said.  ’Oh yes, indeed you will; I can’t dream of your going out into this weather till after lunch.  Suppose we have the tots into the drawing-room again?  I want them to make friends with you at once.  I know you love children.—­Oh, I have known that for a long time!’

Miss Shepperson stayed to lunch.  She stayed to tea.  When at length she took her leave, about six o’clock, the arrangement was complete in every detail.  On this day week she would transfer herself to the Rymers’ house, and enter upon her new life.

She arrived on Saturday afternoon, and was received by the assembled family like a very dear friend or relative.  Mr. Rymer, a well-dressed man, polite, good-natured, with a frequent falsetto laugh, talked over the teacups in the pleasantest way imaginable, not only putting Miss Shepperson at ease, but making her feel as if her position as a member of the household were the most natural thing in the world.  His mere pronunciation of her name gave it a dignity, an importance quite new to Miss Shepperson’s