have a son, you know, a dear boy. He's at school now.'

'Somewhere handy, I suppose? I see there's lots on 'em along this
road.'

'O no! Not in one of these wretched holes! At a public school--one
of the most distinguished in England.'

'Chok' it all! of course! I forget, ma'am, that you've been a lady
for so many years.'

'No, I am not a lady,' she said sadly. 'I never shall be. But he's
a gentleman, and that--makes it--O how difficult for me!'



CHAPTER III



The acquaintance thus oddly reopened proceeded apace. She often
looked out to get a few words with him, by night or by day. Her
sorrow was that she could not accompany her one old friend on foot a
little way, and talk more freely than she could do while he paused
before the house. One night, at the beginning of June, when she was
again on the watch after an absence of some days from the window, he
entered the gate and said softly, 'Now, wouldn't some air do you
good? I've only half a load this morning. Why not ride up to Covent
Garden with me? There's a nice seat on the cabbages, where I've
spread a sack. You can be home again in a cab before anybody is up.'