life, and now he means to be comfortable, and he can't be bothered with
housekeeping. He promises to provide well for us both, and he wants us
to sell up Mortimer Street, and come as quick as possible. But we
_shall_ miss you, miss, and though her Uncle William keeps a trap and
everything according, and Jane is grateful for his kindness, she broke
down and cried hard last night, and says to me: 'Oh, mother, if Miss
Fox-Seton could just manage to take me as a maid, I would rather be it
than anything. Traps don't feed the heart, mother, and I've a feeling
for Miss Fox-Seton as is perhaps unbecoming to my station.' But we've
got the men in the house ticketing things, miss, and we want to know
what we shall do with the articles in your bed-sitting-room."

The friendliness of the two faithful Cupps and the humble Turkey-red
comforts of the bed-sitting-room had meant home to Emily Fox-Seton. When
she had turned her face and her tired feet away from discouraging
errands and small humiliations and discomforts, she had turned them
toward the bed-sitting-room, the hot little fire, the small, fat black
kettle singing on the hob, and the two-and-eleven-penny tea-set. Not
being given to crossing bridges before she reached them, she had never
contemplated the dreary possibility that her refuge might be taken away
from her. She had not dwelt upon the fact that she had no other real
refuge on earth.

As she walked among the sun-heated heather and the luxuriously droning
bees, she dwelt upon it now with a suddenly realising sense. As it came
home to her soul, her eyes filled with big tears, which brimmed over and
rolled down her cheeks. They dropped upon the breast of her linen blouse
and left marks.

"I shall have to find a new bed-sitting-room somewhere," she said, the