at all kinds of unearthly hours when out of sorts." So he went upstairs
to his wife again, the prescription displayed in his hand.

Morning came, bringing the daily routine of duties in its train. Mrs.
Hamlyn had made an engagement to go with some friends to Blackheath, to
take luncheon with a lady living there. It was damp and raw in the early
portion of the day, but promised to be clear later on.

"And then my little darling can go out to play again," she said, hugging
the child to her. "In the afternoon, nurse; it will be drier then; it is
really too damp this morning."

Parting from him with fifty kisses, she went down to her comfortable and
handsome carriage, her husband placing her in.

"I wish you were coming with me, Philip! But, you see, it is only ladies
to-day. Six of us."

Philip Hamlyn laughed. "I don't wish it at all," he answered; "they
would be fighting for me. Besides, I must take old Pratt his
prescription. Only picture his storm of anger if I did not."

Mrs. Hamlyn was not back until just before dinner: her husband, she
heard, had been out all day, and was not yet in. Waiting for him in the
drawing-room listlessly enough, she walked to the window to look out.
And there she saw with a sort of shock the same woman standing in the
same place as the previous evening. Not once all day long had she
thought of her.

"This is a strange thing!" she exclaimed. "I am _sure_ it is this house