Luclarion came into the Ripwinkley kitchen just as the cakes—­the little pepper-pot one and all—­were going triumphantly into the oven, and Hazel was baring her little round arms to wash the dishes, while Diana tended the pans.

Mrs. Ripwinkley heard her old friend’s voice, and came out.

“That girl ought to be here with you; or somewheres else than where she is, or is likely to be took,” said Luclarion, as she looked round and sat down, and untied her bonnet-strings.

Miss Grapp hated bonnet-strings; she never endured them a minute longer than she could help.

“Desire?” asked Mrs. Ripwinkley, easily comprehending.

“Yes; Desire.  I tell you she has a hard row to hoe, and she wants comforting.  She wants to know if it is her duty to go to Yourup with her mother.  Now it may be her duty to be willing to go; but it ain’t anybody’s else duty to let her.  That’s what came to me as I was coming along.  I couldn’t tell her so, you see, because it would interfere with her part; and that’s all in the tune as much as any; only we’ve got to chime in with our parts at the right stroke, the Lord being Leader.  Ain’t that about it, Mrs. Ripwinkley?”

“If we are sure of the score, and can catch the sign,” said Mrs. Ripwinkley, thoughtfully.

“Well, I’ve sung mine; it’s only one note; I may have to keep hammering on it; that’s according to how many repeats there are to be.  Mr. Oldways, he ought to know, for one.  Amongst us, we have got to lay our heads together, and work it out.  She’s a kind of an odd chicken in that brood; and my belief is she’s like the ugly duck Hazel used to read about.  But she ought to have a chance; if she’s a swan, she oughtn’t to be trapesed off among the weeds and on the dry ground.  ’Tisn’t even ducks she’s hatched with; they don’t take to the same element.”

“I’ll speak to Uncle Titus, and I will think,” said Mrs. Ripwinkley.

But before she did that, that same afternoon by the six o’clock penny post, a little note went to Mr. Oldways:—­

     “DEAR UNCLE TITUS,—­

     “I want to talk with you a little.  If I were well, I should
     come to see you in your study.  Will you come up here, and see
     me in my room?

     “Yours sincerely, DESIRE LEDWITH.”

Uncle Titus liked that.  It counted upon something in him which few had the faith to count upon; which, truly he gave few people reason to expect to find.

He put his hat directly on, took up his thick brown stick, and trudged off, up Borden Street to Shubarton Place.

When Luclarion let him in, he told her with some careful emphasis, that he had come to see Desire.

“Ask her if I shall come up,” he said.  “I’ll wait down here.”

Helena was practicing in the drawing-room.  Mrs. Ledwith lay, half asleep, upon a sofa.  The doors into the hall were shut,—­Luclarion had looked to that, lest the playing should disturb Desire.