A man or a woman can often live for a long time after this operation takes place, but they are never the same again.  They go slowly, with the gait of those who are halt, through life.

Mrs. Bertram reached the lodge, and after the imperious fashion of her class did not even knock at the closed door before she lifted the latch and went in.

It was a shabby, little, tumble-down lodge.  It needed papering, and white-washing, and cleaning; in winter the roof let in rain, and the rickety, ill-fitting windows admitted the cold and wind.  Now, however, it was the middle of summer.  Virginia creeper and ivy, honeysuckle and jasmine, nearly covered the walls.  The little place looked picturesque without; and within, honest, hard-working Mrs. Tester contrived with plentiful scouring and washing to give a clean and cosy effect.

Mrs. Bertram, as she stepped into the kitchen, noticed the nice little fire in the bright grate (the lodge boasted of no range); she also saw a pile of buttered toast on the hob, and the tiny kitchen was fragrant with the smell of fresh coffee.

Mrs. Bertram was not wrong when she guessed that Tester and his wife did not live on these dainty viands.

“I’m just preparing breakfast, ma’am, for our young lady lodger,” said good Mrs. Tester, dropping a curtsey.

“For your young lady lodger?  What do you mean, Mrs. Tester?”

“Well, ma’am, please take a chair, won’t you, Mrs. Bertram—­you’ll like to be near the fire, my lady, I’m sure.” (The Testers generally spoke to the great woman in this way—­she did not trouble herself to contradict them.) “Well, my lady, she come last night by the train.  It was Davis’s cab brought her up, and set her down, her and her bits of things, just outside the lodge.  Nothing would please her but that we should give her the front bedroom and the little parlor inside this room and she is to pay us fifteen shillings a week, to cover board and all.  It’s a great lift for Tester and me, and she’s a nice-spoken young lady, and pleasant to look at, too.  Oh, yes, miss—–­I beg your pardon, miss.  I was just a bringing of your breakfast in, miss.”

The door had been opened behind Mrs. Bertram.  She started and turned, as a tall, slim girl with a head of ruddy gold hair, a rather pale, fair face, and big bright eyes, came in.

The girl looked at Mrs. Bertram quickly and eagerly.  Mrs. Bertram looked back at her.  Neither woman flinched as she gazed, only gradually over Mrs. Bertram’s face there stole a greeny-white hue.

The girl came a little nearer.  Old Mrs. Tester bustled past her with the hot breakfast.

“You!" said Mrs. Bertram, when the old woman had left the room, “you are Josephine Hart.”

“I am Josephine; you know better than to call me Hart.”

“Hush! that matter has been arranged between your grandfather and my solicitor.  Do you wish the bargain undone?”