The two were silent a little.  Through Julie’s stormy heart there swept longings and bitternesses inexpressible.  What did she care for the little house and all its luxuries!  She was sorry that she had fettered herself with it....  Nearly four o’clock in the afternoon, and no letter—­not a word!

“Julie,” said the Duchess, softly, in her ear, “you know you can’t live here alone.  I’m afraid Freddie would make a fuss.”

“I’ve thought of that,” said Julie, wearily.  “But, shall we really go on with it, Evelyn?”

The Duchess looked entreaty.  Julie repented, and, drawing her friend towards her, rested her head against the chinchilla cloak.

“I’m tired, I suppose,” she said, in a low voice.  “Don’t think me an ungrateful wretch.  Well, there’s my foster-sister and her child.”

“Madame Bornier and the little cripple girl?” cried the Duchess.  “Excellent!  Where are they?”

“Leonie is in the French Governesses’ Home, as it happens, looking out for a situation, and the child is in the Orthopaedic Hospital.  They’ve been straightening her foot.  It’s wonderfully better, and she’s nearly ready to come out.”

“Are they nice, Julie?”

“Therese is an angel—­you must be the one thing or the other, apparently, if you’re a cripple.  And as for Leonie—­well, if she comes here, nobody need be anxious about my finances.  She’d count every crust and cinder.  We couldn’t keep any English servant; but we could get a Belgian one.”

“But is she nice?” repeated the Duchess.

“I’m used to her,” said Julie, in the same inanimate voice.

Suddenly the clock in the hall below struck four.

“Heavens!” cried the Duchess.  “You don’t know how Clarisse keeps you to your time.  Shall I go on, and send the carriage back for you?”

“Don’t trouble about me.  I should like to look round me here a little longer.”

“You’ll remember that some of our fellow-criminals may look in after five?  Dr. Meredith and Lord Lackington said, as we were getting away last night—­oh, how that doorstep of Aunt Flora’s burned my shoes!—­that they should come round.  And Jacob is coming; he’ll stay and dine.  And, Julie, I’ve asked Captain Warkworth to dine to-morrow night.”

“Have you?  That’s noble of you—­for you don’t like him.”

“I don’t know him!” cried the Duchess, protesting.  “If you like him—­of course it’s all right.  Was he—­was he very agreeable last night?” she added, slyly.

“What a word to apply to anybody or anything connected with last night!”

“Are you very sore, Julie?”

“Well, on this very day of being turned out it hurts.  I wonder who is writing Lady Henry’s letters for her this afternoon?”

“I hope they are not getting written,” said the Duchess, savagely; “and that she’s missing you abominably.  Good-bye—­au revoir! If I am twenty minutes late with Clarisse, I sha’n’t get any fitting, duchess or no duchess.”