“Now go home—­go home, little beggars!” said that golden gentleman, as he packed them into a hansom and stood on the step to accept a wet kiss on his mustache from each pink mouth.  “Tell your mother all about it, and don’t forget your uncle Harry.  There’s a shilling for each of you.  Don’t you spend it on sweets.  You’re quite fat enough already.  Good-bye!”

“That’s the hardest work I’ve done for many a long day,” he said to himself, with a sigh of relief, as the hansom drove away.  “I sha’n’t turn nurse-maid when other trades fail.  But they’re nice little kids all the same.

“Now, then, Cox’s—­and the City”—­he ran over the list of his engagements for the afternoon—­“and by five o’clock shall I find my fair lady—­at home—­and established?  Where on earth is Heribert Street?”

* * * * *

He solved the question, for a few minutes after five he was on Miss Le Breton’s doorstep.  A quaint little house—­and a strange parlor-maid!  For the door was opened to him by a large-eyed, sickly child, who looked at him with the bewilderment of one trying to follow out instructions still strange to her.

[Illustration:  “HE ENTERED UPON A MERRY SCENE”]

“Yes, sir, Miss Le Breton is in the drawing-room,” she said, in a sweet, deliberate voice with a foreign accent, and she led the way through the hall.

Poor little soul—­what a twisted back, and what a limp!  She looked about fourteen, but was probably older.  Where had Julie discovered her?

Warkworth looked round him at the little hall with its relics of country-house sports and amusements; his eye travelled through an open door to the little dining-room and the Russell pastels of Lady Mary’s parents, as children, hanging on the wall.  The character of the little dwelling impressed itself at once.  Smiling; he acknowledged its congruity with Julie.  Here was a lady who fell on her feet!

The child, leading him, opened the door to the left.

“Please walk in, sir,” she said, shyly, and stood aside.

As the door opened, Warkworth was conscious of a noise of tongues.

So Julie was not alone?  He prepared his manner accordingly.

He entered upon a merry scene.  Jacob Delafield was standing on a chair, hanging a picture, while Dr. Meredith and Julie, on either side, directed or criticised the operation.  Meredith carried picture-cord and scissors; Julie the hammer and nails.  Meredith was expressing the profoundest disbelief in Jacob’s practical capacities; Jacob was defending himself hotly; and Julie laughed at both.