The young woman disappeared into the interior; a whispered consultation
followed, and a general hurrying movement of things being put straight,
then Gladys was bidden come in.

She stepped into the little narrow dark passage, closed the door, and
entered the kitchen where the two girls were. It was quite a comfortable
place, clean and warm, though the air was close, and not wholesome. It
had a few articles of kitchen furniture, and two beds, one in each
corner, which rather crowded the space. On one of the beds, half-lying,
half-sitting, was Liz, Walter's sister, with a blanket pinned round her
shoulders, and a copy of the _Family Reader_ in her hand, open at a
thrilling picture of a young lady with an impossible figure being
rescued from a runaway horse by a youth of extraordinary proportions.

Gladys entered the kitchen rather hesitatingly,--the young woman with
the sullen grey face disconcerted her--but when she looked at Liz she
smiled quite brightly, and came forward with a quick, ready step.

'How are you? I am so sorry you are ill. Walter thought I might come to
see you. I hope you will soon be better.'

Liz allowed her hand to be shaken, and fixed her very bright blue eyes
keenly on the girl's sweet face. Gladys felt that she was being
scrutinised, that the measure of her sincerity was gauged by that look,
but she did not evade it. With Liz, Gladys was much surprised. She was
so different from the picture she had drawn, so different from Walter;
there was not the shadow of a resemblance between them. Many would have
called Liz Hepburn beautiful. She was certainly handsome after her kind,
having straight, clear-cut features, a well-formed if rather coarse