’Father called at Mr. Egremont’s two days ago, but did not see him.  He learnt that Mr. Egremont had been at home for one day, but was gone out of town again.  My aunt, as I gather from a chance word, takes the least charitable view; I fear that was to be expected.  We, however, know the truth—­do we not?  It is sad, but not shameful.  I have no means of hearing anything about the library.  I believe father has been to Lambeth, but he and I do not speak on the subject.  Paula, for some reason, avoids me.’

It was one of several letters that arrived that morning.  After opening two appeals from charitable institutions, Mrs. Ormonde found an envelope which, from the handwriting upon it, she judged to be a similar communication from a private source.  The address was laboriously scrawled, and ill-spelt; the postage stamp was badly affixed; there were finger-marks on the back.  Such envelopes generally came from the parents of children who had been in the Home, and frequently—­dirtiness announced such cases—­made appeal for temporary assistance.  The present missive, however, was misleading; its contents proved to be these: 

’Madam,—­We have a young girl with us as lies very bad.  She come to us not more than three week ago and asked for ployment, and me and my husband wasn’t unwilling for to give her a chance, seeing she looked respectable, though we thought it wasn’t unlikely as there might be something wrong, because of her looks and her clothing, which wasn’t neither of them like the girl out of work, and then it’s true she couldn’t give no reference.  And now she’s had fainting fits, and lies very bad, having broke two dishes with falling, and which of course she couldn’t help, and we don’t say as she could.  My husband told me as I ought for to look in her pocket, and which I did, and there I found a envelope as had wrote your name and address on it.  So I take the liberty of writing, and which I am not much of a scholar, because she do lie very bad, and if so be she has friends, they had ought to know.  I do what I can for her, but I have the customers to tend to, because we keep a coffee-shop, which you’ll find it at Number seventeen, Bank Street, off the Caledonian Road.  And I beg to end.  From yours obedient,

SARAH GANDLE.’

There could be little doubt who this young girl was.  Bad spelling and worse writing rendered the letter difficult to translate into English, but from the first sentence Mrs. Ormonde thought of Thyrza Trent.  The description would apply to Thyrza, and Thyrza might by some chance have kept in her pocket the address which, as Mrs. Ormonde knew, Bunce had given her when she brought Bessie to Eastbourne.

Her first emotion was of joy.  This was quickly succeeded by doubts and fears in plenty, for it was difficult to explain Thyrza’s taking such a step as this letter suggested.  But the course to be pursued was clear.  She took the first train to London.