‘Well?’

‘Are you Mrs. Gordon?  I’ve come for Lizzie Hepburn’s things.  She’s no’ comin’ back here.’

’Oh, all right.  Shut the door, and come in.  What’s up with her?  Gone off with a handsomer man, eh?’ queried Mrs. Gordon, as she bit her thread through, and held up a newly-trimmed dress bodice for admiration.

‘No; she’s gaun into the country the morn,’ answered Teen, while the ballet-dancer gave several very knowing nods.

’That’s a pity, for her luck’s turned.  You can tell her she’ll be taken on if she likes to turn up at the Olympic to-morrow morning at ten sharp.  I arranged it for her on Saturday night.’

‘She said I was to tell you she had changed her mind aboot the theatre,’ said Teen.  ‘She’s no’ weel enough for it, onyhoo.  She’ll be better in the country.’

‘Are you her sister?’

‘Oh no, only her chum.’

’Well, I say, perhaps you can tell me something about her.  She was as close as the grave, though we’ve been pals for a while; she’d not tell me a single thing.  Why is she out on her own hook?  Is there a man in the business?’

‘I dinna ken ony mair than you,’ said Teen, looking rather uncomfortable over this cross-examination.  ‘An’ if ye’ll tell me where her box is, I maun be gaun.  I promised no’ to be long.’

‘It’s there, at the end of the bed,’ said Mrs. Gordon serenely, jerking her thumb in that direction.  ’I see you mean to be close too.  Not that it matters a cent to me; I’ve no earthly interest in her affairs.  You can tell her, if you like, that Captain Dent was inquiring affectionately for her this morning.  I met him on my way back from rehearsal.’

Teen listened in silence, mentally deciding that she would not tell her any such thing.

’And you can tell her, if you like, that I’ll be glad to see her any time before the twenty-third.  The Eighty-Fifth are ordered to Ireland, and of course my husband will wish me to go with him.’

A slow smile, in which there was the faintest touch of sarcasm, was in Teen’s face as she glanced at the tawdry figure sitting on the fender end.

‘A’ richt; I’ll tell her.  An’ guid-nicht to ye; I’m very much obleeged,’ she said, and, taking Liz’s tin box in her hand, she left a trifle hastily, as if afraid she should be longer detained.

She found Liz sitting where she had left her, in the same listless attitude, and her eyes were red about the rims, as if she had had a crying fit.  The fire was very low, and the kettle standing cold where Teen had left it on the hearthstone.

‘I forgot a’ aboot the kettle, Teen,’ she said apologetically.  ’I’m a lazy tyke; but dinna rage.  Weel, ye’ve got the box.  Did ye see Emily?’

‘Yes, if that’s her name.  She’s a queer yin,’ said Teen, as she let the box drop, and grasped the poker to improve the condition of the fire.  ‘Ye dinna seem to hae telt her much, Liz, ony mair than me.’