She returned to the house in Gower Street, and wrote on one of her
cards an address--the only permanent address she could think of--that
of the city broker who was in the habit of paying them their yearly
income of £50.

"If any creditors inquire for Mr. Leaf, give them this. His friends
may always hear of him at the London University."

"Thank you, ma'am," replied the now civil landlady. "Indeed, I wasn't
afraid of the young gentleman giving us the slip. For though he was
careless in his bills he was every inch the gentleman. And I wouldn't
object to take him in again. Or p'raps you yourself, ma'am, might be
a-wanting rooms."

"No, I thank you. Good morning." And Hilary hurried away.

Not a word did she say to Elizabeth, or Elizabeth to her, till they
got into the dull, dingy parlor--henceforth, to be their sole apology
for "home:" and then she only talked about domestic
arrangements--talked fast and eagerly, and tried to escape the
affectionate eyes which she knew were so sharp and keen. Only to
escape them--not to blind them; she had long ago found out that
Elizabeth was too quick-witted for that, especially in any thing that
concerned "the family." She felt convinced the girl had heard every
syllable that passed at Ascott's lodgings: that she knew all that was
to be known, and guessed what was to be feared as well as Hilary
herself.

"Elizabeth"--she hesitated long, and doubted whether she should say
the thing before she did say it--"remember we are all strangers in