“You argue for the sake of talking,” replied the other crossly.

They continued in that strain for some moments, and were still at it when Mavis went upstairs to put on her hat; here, she gave a last look at herself in the glass.

“I wonder if I’ll do?” she thought, as she dealt with one or two strands of tawny coloured hair, which were still inclined to be rebellious.

“I wonder if I’ll meet anyone who remembers me?” she thought, as she left the room.

Downstairs, the two old ladies were awaiting her in the hall.  Miss Helen was full of good advice for the journey, whilst Miss Annie dangled a packet of sandwiches, “In case dear Mavis should need refreshment on the way.”

“Thanks so much,” said Mavis, as she took the little packet, the brown-paper covering of which was already grease-stained from the fat of the sandwiches.

“Don’t fail to remember me to Mrs Devitt,” urged Helen.

“I won’t forget,” said Mavis.

“I put salt and mustard in the sandwiches,” remarked Annie.

“Thanks so much,” cried Mavis, as she opened the front door.

“And don’t forget to be sure and travel in a compartment reserved for ladies,” quavered Helen.

“I won’t forget; wish me luck,” answered Mavis.

“We do; good-bye,” said the two old ladies together.

Directly the door was closed, Miss Annie, followed at a distance by Miss Helen, hurried into the schoolroom, where, pulling aside the Venetian blind of the front window, they watched the girl’s trim figure walk down the street.  The two old ladies were really very fond of her and not a little proud of her appearance.

“She has deportment,” remarked Helen, as Mavis disappeared from their ken.

“Scarcely that—­distinction is more the word,” corrected Annie.

“I fear for her in the great world,” declared Helen with trembling lips; “they say that good looks are a girl’s worst enemy.”

“But Mavis has profited by the example of our lives, Helen.”

“There is much in that, Annie.  Also, she should have derived much benefit from being, in school hours, and often out of them, in an atmosphere influenced by the writings of the late Mr Ruskin.”

With these consolations, the two old ladies toiled upstairs, and set about packing for a fortnight’s stay they proposed making with an old friend at Worthing, for which place they proposed starting in two days’ time.

Meanwhile, the subject of their thoughts was walking to Addison Road Station, happily ignorant of the old ladies’ fears concerning the perils of her path.  To look at her, she seemed the least likely girl in London who was about to take a journey on the chance of obtaining a much-needed engagement.  Her glowing eyes, flushed cheeks, and light step were eloquent of a joyousness not usually associated with an all but penniless girl on the look-out for something to