Road," she said. "I think it's somewhere outside the town."
"Not it," said the driver, and presently set her down in a horrid little street, at a horrid little shop, where they sold tobacco and sweets and newspapers and walking-sticks.
"This can't be it! There must be some other Queen's Road?" said Mrs. Despard.
"No there ain't," said the man. "What name did yer want?"
"Cave," said Mrs. Despard absently; "Mrs. Edward Cave."
The man went into the shop. Presently he returned.
"She don't live here," he said; "she only calls here for letters."
Mrs. Despard assured herself of this in a brief interview with a frowsy woman across a glass-topped show-box of silk-embroidered cigar-cases.
"The young person calls every day, mum," she said; "quite a respectable young person, mum, I should say—if she was after your situation."
"Thank you," said Mrs. Despard mechani-
