So, about ten o'clock, Miss Shepperson put on her best things, and set out for Hammersmith. It was a foggy, drizzly, enervating day. When Miss Shepperson found herself drawing near to the house, her courage sank, her heart throbbed painfully, and for a moment she all but stopped and turned, thinking that it would be much better to put her ultimatum into writing. Yet there was the house in view, and to turn back would be deplorable weakness. By word of mouth she could so much better depict the gravity of her situation. She forced herself onwards. Trembling in every nerve, she rang the bell, and in a scarce audible gasp she asked for Mrs. Rymer. A brief delay, and the servant admitted her.

Mrs. Rymer was in the drawing-room, giving her elder child a piano-lesson, while the younger, sitting in a baby-chair at the table, turned over a picture-book. The room was comfortably and prettily furnished; the children were very becomingly dressed; their mother, a tall woman, of fair complexion and thin, refined face, with wandering eyes and a forehead rather deeply lined, stepped forward as if in delight at the unexpected visit, and took Miss Shepperson's ill-gloved hand in both her own, gazing with tender interest into her eyes.

'How kind of you to have taken this trouble! You guessed that I really wished to see you. I should have come to you, but just at present I find it so difficult to get away from home. I am housekeeper, nursemaid, and governess all in one! Some women would find it rather a strain, but the dear tots are so good—so good! Cissy, you remember Miss Shepperson? Of course you do. They look a little pale, I'm afraid; don't you think so? After the life they were accustomed to—but we won't talk about that. Tots, school-time is over for this morning. You can't go out, my poor dears; look at the horrid, horrid weather. Go and sit by the nursery-fire, and sing "Rain, rain, go away!"'

Miss Shepperson followed the children with her look as they silently left the room. She knew not how to enter upon what she had to say. To talk of the law and use threats in this atmosphere of serene domesticity seemed impossibly harsh. But the necessity of broaching the disagreeable subject was spared her.

'My husband and I were talking about you last night,' began Mrs. Rymer, as soon as the door had closed, in a tone of the friendliest confidence. 'I had an idea; it seems to me so good. I wonder whether it will to you? You told me, did you not, that you live in lodgings, and quite alone?'

'Yes,' replied Miss Shepperson, struggling to command her nerves and betraying uneasy wonder.

'Is it by choice?' asked the soft-voiced lady, with sympathetic bending of the head. 'Have you no relations in London? I can't help thinking you must feel very lonely.'

It was not difficult to lead Miss Shepperson to talk of her circumstances—a natural introduction to the announcement which she was still resolved to make with all firmness. She narrated in outline the history of her family, made known exactly how she stood in pecuniary matters, and ended by saying—

'You see, Mrs. Rymer, that I have to live as carefully as I can. This house is really all I have to depend upon, and—and—'

Again she was spared the unpleasant utterance. With an irresistible smile, and laying her soft hand on the visitor's ill-fitting glove, Mrs. Rymer began to reveal the happy thought which had occurred to her. In the house there was a spare room; why should not Miss Shepperson come and live here—live, that is to say, as a member of the family? Nothing simpler than to arrange the details of such a plan, which, of course, must be 'strictly businesslike,' though carried out in a spirit of mutual goodwill. A certain sum of money was due to her for rent; suppose this were repaid in the form of board and lodging, which might be reckoned at—should one say, fifteen shillings a week? At midsummer next an account would be drawn up, 'in a thoroughly businesslike way,' and whatever then remained due to Miss Shepperson would be paid at once; after which, if the arrangement proved agreeable to both sides, it might be continued, cost of board and lodging being deducted from the rent, and the remainder paid 'with regularity' every quarter. Miss Shepperson would thus have a home—a real home—with all family comforts, and Mrs. Rymer, who was too much occupied with house and children to see much society, would have the advantage of a sympathetic friend under her own roof. The good lady's voice trembled with joyous eagerness as she unfolded the project, and her eyes grew large as she waited for the response.