her son, had chosen the artist’s dwelling, upon whose door-plate was inscribed the fact that he was a professor of drawing.  Solomon was not displeased that his son’s tastes lay in that direction; it might be useful to himself hereafter in the matter of plans and sections; but he is violently opposed to this ridiculous love affair, which is to be stamped out at once.  To that end he has instructed Mrs. Coe to look for lodgings in a distant quarter, and it is on that errand that we now behold her.  It is characteristic of the Harry whom we once knew that she permits these young people to accompany her—­and one another—­on the very quest that has their final separation for its object.  She can not resist making them happy while she can; and she can refuse her Charley nothing.  Moreover, Solomon is in the City, looking after his mining interests, and need never know.

In appearance, however, Harry Trevethick is greatly changed.  She is but seven-and-thirty, yet has already passed into the shade of middle life.  Her hair, though still in profusion, is tinged with gray; her features are worn and sharp; her brow is wrinkled; and in her once trustful eyes dwells a certain eager care, not mere distress or trouble, but an anxiety which is almost Fear.

The three are now in one of the streets which unite Cavendish Square with Oxford Street, as a busy babbling rill connects the unruffled lake with the roaring river.  It is composed both of shops and private houses, the latter of which in some cases deign, notwithstanding their genteel appearance, to accommodate visitors by the week or month.

“This is the sort of locality your father wished for, Charley,” remarked Mrs. Coe, looking about her; “it seems central, and yet tolerably quiet.  Let us try this house.”

The name of “Basil,” without prefix, was engraved upon the door-plate; and in a corner of the dining-room window lurked an enameled card with “Apartments” on it.

“There is no need to drag Agnes and you in,” Mrs. Coe went on, as they stood waiting for the bell to be answered.  So Charles, well pleased, was left outside with the young girl, while his mother “went over the house.”  In a few minutes, however, she reappeared, and in a somewhat hurried and excited tone observed, “I think this place will do, my dears; but there is a good deal to talk about and settle, which will take me some time.  Therefore I think you had better go home together, and leave me.”  Then, without waiting for a reply, she retired within and closed the door.

“How very curious!” exclaimed Agnes, wondering.

“Oh, not at all,” said the young man, cheerfully; “my mother likes to do things for herself, and I dare say has not a very high opinion of our judgment in domestic matters.  You don’t seem over-pleased, it seems to me, Agnes, at the notion of a tete-a-tete with your humble servant;” and Mr. Charles pouted, half in fun and half with annoyance.