Miss Pringle’s brother, it seemed, had had a turn of luck.  Just what, she discreetly forbore to mention.  Certainly, it could not have been at cards.  Nora smiled at the recollection of the horror that Mr. Hornby’s remarks as to his earnings from that source had provoked.  However, he had most generously sent his sister a ten-pound note as a present.  Miss Pringle had, of course, no possible use for it at the time.  Also it appeared that the thought of carrying it about with her, particularly as she was going among foreigners, filled her with positive terror.  Therefore, she was enclosing it to Nora to take care of.  She hoped she would use any part of it or all of it.  She could return it after they returned to Tunbridge Wells, provided that Miss Pringle survived the natural perils that beset one who ventured out of England.  They would have started on their journey before the receipt of the letter.  As to their destination, Miss Pringle said never a word.

A small envelope had fallen into her lap when she opened the letter.  With dimmed eyes Nora opened it.  It contained the ten-pound note.

It was a week later that it occurred to Nora to answer two advertisements that appeared in one of the morning papers.  In each case it was a companion that was wanted.  One of the ladies lived at Whitby and pending the answer to her letter she decided to call personally on the other, who lived at Hampstead.

The morning being fine, she decided to make an early start and walk about on Hampstead Heath until a suitable hour for making her call.  When she finally arrived before the house, a rather pretentious looking structure in South Hampstead, she was met at the gate by a middle-aged woman of unprepossessing appearance, who inquired rather sharply as to her errand.

“Mrs. Blake’s card distinctly said that all applications were to be made in writing,” she said disagreeably, in reply to Nora’s explanation.

“The one I read did not, at least I don’t think it did,” said Nora.

“Well, if it didn’t, it should have,” said the woman tartly.

“May I ask if you are Mrs. Blake?”

“Write and you may find out; although I might as well tell you, you won’t answer.  Mrs. Blake will be wanting someone of a very different appearance,” said the woman rudely.

“I am indeed unfortunate,” said Nora with a bow.

The woman closed the gate with a bang and turned toward the house as Nora walked rapidly away.  She decided to answer no more advertisements.

One morning, at the end of the week, the post brought her three letters.  One from its postmark was clearly from her brother in Canada.  She put that aside for the moment to be read at her leisure.

[Illustration:  Nora overhears frank say wives are made for work only.]