Belgravia. But I must be going my ways. I left James on the street, and
there's nae living with the man if you keep his horses waiting.
Good-morning til ye! But eh, laddie, I'm afraid for ye! I'm thinking--I'm
thinking ... but come and see me at Victoria Square. Good-morning!"

She had rattled this off at a breath, and had hardly given time for a
reply, when her black silk was rustling down the stairs.

John Storm remembered that the canon had spoken of her. She was the good
woman who kept the home for girls at Soho.

"The good creature only came to comfort me," he thought. But Glory! What
was Glory thinking? That morning after prayers at the hospital he went in
search of her in the out-patient department, but she pretended to be
overwhelmed with work, and only nodded and smiled and excused herself.

"I haven't got a moment this morning either for the king or his dog. I'm
up to my eyes in bandages, and have fourteen plasters on my conscience,
and now I must run away to my little boy whose leg was amputated on
Saturday."

He understood her, but he came back in the evening and was resolved to
face it out.

"What did you think of last night, Glory?" Then she put on a look of
blank amazement.

"Why, what happened? Oh, of course, the sermon! How stupid of me! Do you
know I forgot all about it?"