Miss Forsyth lived in a beautiful old house which,
though its approach was in a narrow street, yet directly
overlooked at the back the great green lawns
surrounding the cathedral.

The house had been left to her many years ago,
but she had never done anything to it. Unaffected
by the many artistic and other crazes which had swept
over the country since then, it remained a strange
mixture of beauty and ugliness. Miss Forsyth loved
the beauty of her house, and she put up with what
ugliness there was because of the major part of her
income, which was not very large, had to be spent,
according to her theory of life, on those less fortunate
than herself.

At the present moment all her best rooms, those
rooms which overlooked her beloved cathedral, had
been given up by her to a rather fretful-natured and
very dissatisfied Belgian family, and so she had taken
up her quarters on the darker and colder side of her
house, that which overlooked the street.

It was there, in a severe-looking study on the ground
floor, that Mrs. Otway found her this evening.

As her visitor was ushered in by the cross-looking
old servant who was popularly supposed to be the
only person of whom Miss Forsyth stood in fear, she
got up and came forward, a very kindly, welcoming
look on her plain face.

"Well, Mary," she said, "what's the matter now?
Mrs. Purlock drunk again, eh?"

"Well, yes -- as a matter of fact the poor woman
was quite drunk this morning! But I've really come
to know if you can spare me tomorrow afternoon. I
want to go to London on business. I was also won-

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v?