“Eaton Square, I think.”
“Good-day, Mr. Martin.”
The carriage rolled out of sight. Martin stood bareheaded in the doorway of his shop. There was not a prouder man than he in the whole of Christendom. When he returned to the sacred precincts of the shop itself he said to Turtle, “Fresh customer, Turtle—West End, Turtle. That’s a fine young lady—eh, Turtle?”
“The most beautiful young female I ever saw,” returned Turtle.
“When I ask you what you think of her personal appearance you can tell me, Turtle. Now, go and attend to the shop.”
Meanwhile Aneta, her heart full of thankfulness, accompanied her aunt to Eaton Square.
“I have got what I want,” she said, “and dear Maggie is practically saved; and you have done it, auntie. You will feel happier for this to your dying day.”
Lady Lysle said that at the present moment she did not feel specially elated at the thought of getting her tea and numerous groceries at a shop in Shepherd’s Bush; but Aneta assured her that that was a very tiny sacrifice to make for so great an end as she had in view.
“It will help Mr. Martin,” she said. “He is not a gentleman, and doesn’t pretend to be, but he’s a good, honest tradesman; and perhaps Mrs. Ward, too, will give him some of her custom.”
“Well, my dear Aneta, if you’re happy, I have nothing to say,” responded her aunt. “But you must tackle Watson, for I really cannot attempt it.”