if not on, at any rate in the neighbourhood of a volcano. One morning
that was not wet nor foggy Miss Starbrow made up her mind to visit the
West End to do a little shopping, and, to the maid's unbounded disgust,
she took Fan with her. An hour after breakfast they started in a hansom
and drove to the Marble Arch, where they dismissed the cab.

"Now," said Miss Starbrow, who was in high spirits, "we'll walk to Peter
Robinson's and afterwards to Piccadilly Circus, looking at all the shops,
and then have lunch at the St. James's Restaurant; and walk home along
the parks. It is so beautifully dry underfoot to-day."

Fan was delighted with the prospect, and they proceeded along Oxford
Street. The thoroughfares about the Marble Arch had been familiar to her
in the old days, and yet they seemed now to have a novel and infinitely
more attractive appearance--she did not know why. But the reason was very
simple. She was no longer a beggar, hungry, in rags, ashamed, and feeling
that she had no right to be there, but was herself a part of that
pleasant world of men and women and children. An old Moon Street
neighbour, seeing her now in her beautiful dress and with her sweet
peaceful face, would not have recognised her.

At Peter Robinson's they spent about half an hour, Miss Starbrow making
some purchases for herself, and, being in a generous mood, she also
ordered a few things for Fan. As they came out at the door they met a Mr.
Mortimer, an old friend of Miss Starbrow's, elderly, but dandified in his
dress, and got up to look as youthful as possible. After warmly shaking
hands with Miss Starbrow, and bowing to Fan, he accompanied them for some
distance up Regent Street. Fan walked a little ahead. Mr. Mortimer seemed
very much taken with her, and was most anxious to find out all about her,
and to know how she came to be in Miss Starbrow's company. The answers he