Within two days, under the darkling glance of Mrs. Pett, she had altered
the arrangements of the house. Flowers appeared on the meal-table,
knives and forks were properly cleaned, and plates no longer appeared
ornamented with the mustard of a previous meal. Fresh air circulated
through the house, and, passing from Mrs. Pett's left knee to the lumbar
region of Mr. Mott, went on its beneficent way rejoicing.

On the fifth day of her visit, Mr. Mott sat alone in the front parlour.
The window was closed, the door was closed, and Mr. Mott, sitting in an
easy chair with his feet up, was aroused from a sound nap by the door
opening to admit a young man, who, deserted by Mrs. Pett, stood bowing
awkwardly in the doorway.

"Is Miss Garland in?" he stammered.

Mr. Mott rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eyelids.

"She has gone for a walk," he said, slowly.

The young man stood fingering his hat.

"My name is Hurst," he said, with slight emphasis. "Mr. Alfred Hurst."

Mr. Mott, still somewhat confused, murmured that he was glad to hear it.

"I have come from London to see Florrie," continued the intruder. "I
suppose she won't be long?"

Mr. Mott thought not, and after a moment's hesitation invited Mr. Hurst