This case might be the pretty drawing-room, full of the choice
artistic curiosities of a man of cultivation, and presided over by
his mother, a woman of much the same bright, keen, alert sweetness of
air and countenance: still under sixty, and in perfect health and
spirits—-as well she might be, having preserved, as well as deserved,
the exclusive devotion of her only child during all the years in
which her early widowhood had made them all in all to each other.
Ten years ago, on his election to a lectureship at one of the London
hospitals, the son had set up his name on the brass plate of the door
of a comfortable house in a once fashionable quarter of London; she
had joined him there, and they had been as happy as affection and
fair success could make them. He became lecturer at a hospital, did
much for the poor, both within and without its walls, and had besides
a fair practice, both among the tradespeople, and also among the
literary, scientific, and artistic world, where their society was
valued as much as his skill. Mrs. Brownlow was well used to being
called on to do the many services suggested by a kind heart in the
course of a medical man's practice, and there was very little within,
or beyond, reason that she would not have done at her Joe's bidding.
So she made the arrangement, exciting much gratitude in the heads of
the Pomfret House Establishment for Young Ladies; though without
seeing little Miss Allen, till, from the Doctor's own brougham, but
escorted only by an elderly maid-servant, there came climbing up the
stairs a little heap of shawls and cloaks, surmounted by a big brown
mushroom hat.

"Very proper of Joe. He can't be too particular,—-but such a child!"
thought Mrs. Brownlow as the mufflings disclosed a tiny creature,
angular in girlish sort, with an odd little narrow wedge of a face,
sallow and wan, rather too much of teeth and mouth, large greenish-