"They did not wish to have the girl brought back to them?"
"Oh, no, sir; they'd had enough of her. They said she must go to her home in London. And Mrs. Rowles knew that you would be going to town to-day, and she promised to send word to you that I would bring this runaway here to meet you; and Mrs. Rowles said she knew you would see her safe home, because you are always ready to help everybody."
Mrs. Webster smiled. "And what did Mr. Rowles say about his niece?"
"Oh, he said she was a regular bad un; went off alone in the boat and got shipwrecked. He said she had a father who never thought of getting up to work until other folks were going to bed, and what else could you expect from the daughter of such a man as that? But the old gentleman who had got out of the boat said, 'Tut, nonsense!' and seemed to want to have an argument with Rowles after I had left. And now, sir, I see your train coming, and I have talked myself out; so good-morning to you and to your good lady."
Lifting his hat, Mrs. Bosher's brother went away, and Juliet saw no more of him. She was pushed into a carriage with the vicar and Mrs. Webster. Indignant she was, and unhappy; all her folly and all her wickedness were coming back upon her now.
During the long, hot journey up to London Mr. Webster several times spoke very severely to Juliet. He knew enough of her story to be aware that she was selfish and conceited, unwilling to be taught, and resolved to have her own way. He told her how she might have lived most happily at the lock until a nice little situation had been found for her; but she had spoilt everything, and made her uncle and aunt glad to get rid of her. He told her that unless she could become more humble and teachable she would never learn anything good; that it is the childlike, humble souls which grow in wisdom and in favour with God and man.
Mrs. Webster did not say much, but looked so gently at Juliet that her looks had almost as much effect as her husband's words. The experience of the last few days, her frights, her misfortunes, the gun of Mrs. Bosher's brother, the locking up in Mrs. Bosher's house, this sudden journey home, all showed Juliet that she had tried the patience of grown-up people more than they could bear. She looked with hazy eyes on the country that they were passing through; she hardly saw the fields and trees. But at length she noticed that the houses were more numerous, and then that the fields were gone, and then that she was in London—hot, smoky, noisy London once more.
"It is very annoying for you," said Mr. Webster to his wife in a low tone, which yet was distinct enough to Juliet's young ears—"very annoying for you to be obliged to go to the other side of the city, when your mother expects you at eleven o'clock. But there is no help for it. I have to go down to Westminster. I don't suppose I shall see you till we meet at Paddington to come back by the 7:45 train. I will put you and the child into an omnibus in Praed Street, and when you get out Juliet Mitchell must guide you to her home."
Even the West-end was hot and steamy on that broiling August day. Never before had Juliet thought London so unpleasant; the reason being that this was the first time she could contrast the town with the country. It seemed to her that the further she went through the streets the thicker the air became, the dimmer the light, the dingier the houses. And so indeed it was. And when she brought Mrs. Webster into the street which contained No. 103, she wondered how that lady would like to exchange Littlebourne vicarage for an East-end vicarage.
An almost similar thought was passing through Mrs. Webster's mind, or rather, the same thought reversed.