she was small and thin, with a bleached, joyless face, which seemed all of the same dull grey tint. grey hair, grey eyes, grey complexion, a pinched-in mouth and deeply-furrowed forehead. she was dressed in black—shabby black, which is the shabbiest of all shabbies—and, looking at her, it seemed impossible to believe that there had ever been a time when she was young and happy, and had frisked and frolicked, and liked pretty things like any ordinary girl. cynthia and betty felt a chill of dismay, but nan’s heart gave a throb of delight. this was one of the very starved, joyless lives which she longed to brighten; it would have been difficult to find a better type of the class. she walked quickly forward, and held out a warm, welcoming hand.

“how do you do? i am so pleased you have come?”

miss beveridge looked at her coldly, then cast an inquiring glance around the room; at the luxurious hangings and furniture, at the glowing fire, at betty slim and childish in her simple blue frock, at cynthia with her flowing locks.

“is—is mrs vanburgh not at home?” she inquired, drawing up her thin figure with an air of wounded dignity. “i understood that the hours mentioned were from three to seven, but if she is engaged—”

nan smiled in the merry, radiant manner which made her look even younger than her years.

“i am mrs vanburgh!”

“oh, indeed!” said miss beveridge coldly.

why she should have taken the announcement as a personal insult the girls could not understand, but that she did receive it in such, a spirit was proved by the sudden stiffening which passed over her features even as she spoke. she seated herself on the edge of the chair to which nan escorted her, sternly refused an offer of tea, and vouchsafed only monosyllabic replies when spoken to. it was a terrible occasion! nan took refuge in the resort of the destitute, and exhausted the subject of the weather in all its branches.

“it is a very chilly afternoon.”

“very chilly.”

“it seemed in the morning as if it were going to clear up.”

“it did.”

“the forecast says it will rain before night.”

“indeed!”

“november always is a dreary month.”

no reply.

“in london there are so many fogs, but in the country the fallen leaves are almost as depressing.”

“perhaps so.”

nan looked across the room and made a desperate grimace at her companions. before doing so she made sure that miss beveridge was not looking, but she forgot that in turning her head in the opposite direction she was naturally vis-à-vis with cynthia and betty, and they—silly things!—simultaneously jerked with surprise, flushed and struggled after speech, thereby hopelessly giving away the situation.

“er—are you quite sure you will not have a cup of tea? or—er, coffee? we have both ready. or a high-tea downstairs, if you care for anything more solid.”

“i have had luncheon, thank you. i am not in the least in need of food,” replied miss beveridge in tones of scathing coldness. there was a ghastly silence.

“horrid thing! always did hate ’em!” soliloquised betty.

“how dare she? ungrateful wretch!” queried cynthia.

“she’s cross because she’s miserable; she’s just as miserable as she can be! somebody else could comfort her, but i can’t. she thinks i am a presumptuous chit. perhaps i am, trying to do work that is far beyond me!” sighed nan, with a heavy sinking of the heart. she could not attempt to speak, and the silence lasted several minutes, until at last miss beveridge roused herself to inquire hesitatingly, yet with a certain suppressed eagerness—

“were you perhaps wishing to—er—to organise some classes? my time is disengaged on saturday afternoons. my special subject is music, but i hold very high certificates, and am of course competent to take up other subjects.”

nan gasped with dismay! here was a situation, to be treated as a schoolgirl whose education required finishing! she could hear gervase’s derisive laughter, the amused chuckle with which he would say, “silly girl, serve you right!” across the room cynthia and betty were sniggering, and biting their lips. this was indeed a travesty of what she had expected. the blood flamed in her cheeks, but she answered steadily enough—

“oh no, i was not thinking of anything for myself. it occurred to me that it might be dull in those ‘homes’ on holiday afternoons, especially for ladies who are strangers in london, and i hoped it might make a little change for them to come out to tea. it would certainly be a pleasure to me to receive them.”

“indeed!” said miss beveridge coldly.

the momentary animation which had flickered in her face at the thought of the possibility of classes died away, leaving her looking even more bleached and hopeless than before. she pressed her thin lips together, looked at the clock, and inquired suddenly—

“can you tell me the nearest way from here to maida vale?”

it was a direct intimation of departure, and nan accepted it as such, giving the desired information, without protest, it is true, but in a manner absolutely devoid of offence. it was raining heavily by this time, and she would fain have offered to whistle for a hansom, but she felt that such a proceeding would have been interpreted as an additional offence. when the visitor rose, however, she insisted upon accompanying her downstairs, where in the privacy of the vestibule she allowed herself the luxury of a farewell appeal.

“i am so sorry that it has been a failure! you are vexed with me for having brought you here for nothing, and on such a terrible afternoon too, but i meant well! i’m young, and foolish, and don’t know how to do things properly, but i couldn’t bear to keep everything to myself, and i could think of no better way. you’ll forgive me, won’t you? i’m so sorry you’ve been bored!”

miss beveridge looked at her swiftly, and as she looked her thin features twitched beneath her veil, and two little patches of colour showed themselves on her cheeks.

“there is nothing to forgive,” she said hurriedly. “nothing on your side, at least. i was taken by surprise and did not quite understand. if you will allow me i will come again another time.”

“will you—will you really? oh, it would make me so happy!” cried nan rapturously. “thank you so much! next saturday, perhaps? i shall look forward to it all the week.”

she motioned the servant aside, and, accompanying her visitor to the door, insisted upon opening her umbrella and helping to tuck up the well-worn skirt. her bonnie face shone out under the light as she waved her hand and cried out eagerly, “come soon! come soon!” miss beveridge shut her lips tightly and did not reply in words, but she did something which was more expressive—she dropped her skirt into the mud on purpose to wave a response! the november evening was dark and cheerless enough to strike a chill to the stoutest heart, but one solitary woman walked through it with a new glow at her heart. the warm light streaming out into the darkness, the sweet welcoming voice, were as meat and drink to her starved soul.

in the drawing-room the girls awaited nan’s return with some anxiety, but, to their amazement, she came bounding upstairs two steps at a time, all abeam with complacent delight. what a comfort it was that she had so soon returned to her senses!

“has she gone? really gone! what a relief!”

“she’s coming again! she said she would. thank goodness for that!”

“mrs vanburgh, you—you can’t mean it! she was a horror! you can’t possibly want to see her again! she was as cross as two sticks because she had come once, so why should she try it a second time?”

“she didn’t understand, and it was a shock to find us all so young. yes, of course i want her! she’s just the sort i do want; the happy, prosperous ones have no need of me. oh, did you see her poor grey face?”

betty shivered dramatically.

“i did! it made me think of vinegar and, lemon-juice, and all the sour things you can think of mixed together. her lips were so thin you could hardly see them at all, and they turned right down at the corners.”

“she was pretty once, prettier than any of us—her features are perfect still. she’s worried, and ill, and badly dressed. did you see her blouse?”

“yes!” betty sighed sententiously. “it was such a comfort to me. i’d been feeling so grumpy because my own was horrid compared to yours, but when i saw that grey flannel atrocity i felt i ought to be thankful instead?”

nan laughed happily.

“then she did you good too? that’s all right. girls, i’m hungry. this has been a most exhausting afternoon. i don’t think there is a chance of anyone else coming, so hadn’t we better go downstairs and eat up some of the good things ourselves? how do you feel?”

there was no doubt about the girls’ feelings. they might have been starving, from the alacrity with which they sprang from their seats, followed their hostess downstairs, and seated themselves at the dining-table.

“we will not wait any longer, johnson. bring in fresh tea and coffee, and then you can leave us. we will attend to ourselves,” said nan to the solemn-faced butler; and, as soon as he had departed, “isn’t it just wonderful how servants contrive to keep their faces straight?” she cried laughingly. “i’ve no doubt they are all laughing themselves ill downstairs at the collapse of my great ‘at home,’ but johnson looks as if it were the most correct thing in the world for three people to sit down to a table laid for a dozen! i’ll carve, and you can pour out. now for the chicken and ham—now for the gay sally lunn! eat, my darlings, eat! do without dinner for one night, and save a friend’s reputation! i shall never hear the last of it from gervase, unless i can tell him that some of the things were used.”

it was a merry meal, and lasted for an inordinately long time, and when it was over the three girls felt that their mutual acquaintance had progressed by giant strides.

cynthia went home to give a graphic description of betty’s charms, and to cry—

“you must, you really must, call upon mrs trevor, mother, for i can’t be happy till i know the whole family.”

betty burst into the dining-room in a flutter of excitement, exclaiming all in a breath—

“she’s a darling, a perfect darling; and the pet was there, and her name is cynthia, and she’s not pampered a bit. we are awfully good friends; and what do you think?—only one governess turned up, and there are heaps and heaps of cakes left. and may jill and pam go to tea on monday to eat them up?”

as for nan, she laid her pretty head on her husband’s shoulder, and refused to be comforted.

“no, it was not a failure! i’m not disappointed a bit. i was silly, and expected too much, but the one who came—oh, gervase, she was the very incarnation of homelessness. if she will let me help her, i shall be quite, quite satisfied?”