When it was time for Bertha to walk home wards, Rosamund put her hat on, and they went out together. Turning to the west, they passed along Cheyne Walk, and paused awhile by old Chelsea Church. The associations of the neighbourhood moved Miss Elvan to a characteristic display of enthusiasm. Delightful to live here! A joy to work amid such memories, of ancient and of latter time!
"I must get Mr. Warburton to come and walk about Chelsea with me," she added.
"Mr. Warburton?"
"He's a great authority on London antiquities. Bertha, if you happen to see Norbert these days, do ask him for Mr. Warburton's address."
"Why not ask your people at Ashtead?" said Bertha.
"I shan't be going there for two or three weeks. Promise to ask Norbert—will you? For me, of course."
Bertha had turned to look at the river. Her face wore a puzzled gravity.
"I'll try to think of it," she replied, walking slowly on.
"He's a great mystery," were Rosamund's next words. "My uncle has no idea what he does, and Norbert, they tell me, is just as ignorant, or at all events, professes to be. Isn't it a queer thing? He came to grief in business two years ago, and since then he has lived out of sight. Uncle Ralph supposes he had to take a clerk's place somewhere, and that he doesn't care to talk about it."
"Is he such a snob?" asked Bertha, disinterestedly.