callers have to be warned not to catch their feet in. The rug cannot be
made to cover it as it's right in the middle. I do my best with an
occasional table, but then that gets in the way. With love, my dear
Blanche, from myself and your father, believe me,

"Yours affectionately,

"MARY LETITIA GREY."

* * * * *

This was the letter that had flashed like a ray of sun into the scheme
of things for Blanche, and whose salient portions--by which she meant
those directly affecting herself--she repeated over and over. "A very
rich young man ... educated at Cambridge, I am told ... cannot blame the
poor young man if he does not fall in love down here ... it would be
different if you were home. He is just your style." That meant the style
of man who fell in love with her, now always younger than herself.

"Got bad news, have 'ee, or is it good?" asked Mrs. Penticost, who could
contain herself in silence no longer. She gave up the pretence of
dusting and stood frankly looking at her lodger.

"I--I don't quite know how to take it, Mrs. Penticost," temporised
Blanche.

"Whisht kind of news that must be," remarked Mrs. Penticost, who had not
watched Miss Grey these past weeks without getting a shrewd idea of the
tendency of her thoughts and affections. "I was wondering whether you
weren't feeling glad that time's come to go--if 'ee are going along of