were in such a state that it was hard, by much mending every evening, to
keep them from falling to pieces. Every day seemed to bring her nearer to
the end, when she would be compelled to sit down and say "I can do no
more--I must starve"; yet with the little renewal of strength which the
evening meal and drearily-expressed sympathy of her friend and the
night's rest would bring her, she would go forth each morning to wander
about for another day.

Ten or twelve days had gone by in this way, and acting on a little
practical advice given by the poor laundrywoman, she had forsaken the
neighbourhood of squares and big houses close to Hyde Park to go further
afield into the district lying west of Westbourne Grove, where the houses
were smaller, and fewer servants were kept in them.

About ten o'clock one morning she stopped before a house in Dawson Place,
a wide clean street of pretty detached, moderate-sized houses, each with
a garden in front and a larger garden and trees behind. The house had a
trim well-kept appearance, and five or six broad white steps led up to
the front door, which was painted deep blue. Fan, looking critically at
the steps, could not make out whether they had been already cleaned or
not, so white and clean, yet dry, did they look. And the steps of all the
houses in Dawson Place had the same white look, so that there seemed no
chance of anything for her to do there; but she felt tired already, and
stood resting beside the area gate, not venturing to ring.

By-and-by the front door opened and a lady came out and down the steps,
and on reaching the pavement stood still and looked hard at Fan. She was
tall, and had a round shapely figure, a well-developed bust, and looked
about five-and-twenty years old. Fan thought her marvellously beautiful,
but felt a little frightened in her presence, she was so tall and