poverty.

The car had rolled silently into a side street off St. James's, where
the chauffeur pulled up sharply at the door of one of the old-fashioned,
though now newly-painted houses. Vermont sprang out and rang the bell
twice.

"Has Miss Lester returned yet?" he asked of the smart maid who opened
the door.

"Yes, sir," she answered, and promptly led the way up a newly-carpeted
staircase, redolent of Parma violet scent and glistening with white
enamelled woodwork and plaster casts. The walls were adorned with
pictures in the worst possible taste and the most glaring colours. As
Vermont reached the first floor, a strong, savoury odour filled the air.

He smiled sarcastically, and sniffed as if the perfume were familiar to
him.

"Miss Lester at supper?" he asked the white-capped maid, as she threw
open the door on the first floor, and stood aside to let the visitor
precede her.

"Yes, sir; supper's been served," was the demure answer.

Vermont passed into the room, which was furnished with the same lack of
taste as the staircase. Two women were seated at the table, apparently
just finishing their supper.

At first glance they might have been mistaken for mother and daughter,