others thought of her; but with her mind quietly occupied by the two
thoughts, which in any brief space of rest always recurred, calming
down all annoyances, and raising her above the level of petty
pains--Johanna and Robert Lyon. Under the influence of these her
tired face grew composed, and there was a wishful, far away, fond
look in her eyes, which made it not wonderful that the said old
lady--apparently an acute old soul in her way--should watch her, as
we do occasionally watch strangers in whom we have become suddenly
interested.

There is no accounting for these interests, or to the events to which
they give rise. Sometimes they are pooh-pooh-ed as "romantic,"
"unnatural," "like a bit in a novel;" and yet they are facts
continually occurring, especially to people of quick intuition,
observation, and sympathy. Nay, even the most ordinary people have
known or heard of such, resulting in mysterious, life-long loves;
firm friendships; strange yet often wonderful happy marriages; sudden
revolutions of fortune and destiny: things utterly unaccountable for,
except by the belief in the inscrutable Providence which

"Shapes our ends,
Rough-how them as we will."

When Hilary left the shop she was startled by a voice at her elbow.

"I beg your pardon, but if your way lies up Southampton Row, would
you object to give an old woman a share of that capital umbrella of
yours?"

"With pleasure," Hilary answered, though the oddness of the request