she had lately read; but that did not prevent her pleasure at being back with Miss Braddon.
The maid came in and set the glass-tray on the table which she had just covered, took a box of matches from her apron pocket, lit the wick of the silver spirit-stove and left the room. Janet watched the whole proceeding with pleasure, sitting still in the arm-chair. Three soft raps on the gong and Gertrude appeared. She made the tea, and they talked. When they had finished, Gertrude sat at her desk and began to write a lettter, and still talking, Janet gradually let herself into her novel once more. There was plenty of the story left, she would read right on till dinner.
They had finished talking for some minutes when they heard a ring.
"Oh, Gerty, suppose this is a visitor!" Janet said, looking up from her book.
Gertrude listened. Janet prayed all the time that it might not be a visitor, and she gave a low groan as she heard heavy steps upon the stairs. Gertrude's desk was just opposite the door, and directly the maid opened it she saw that the visitor was an awkward young man who never had anything to say. She exchanged a glance with Janet, then Janet saw the maid who announced, "Mr. Huddleston."
And then she saw Mr. Huddleston. She laid her book down open on the table behind her, and rose to shake hands with him.
Janet had one conversation with Mr. Huddleston—music: they were very slightly acquainted, and they never got beyond that subject. She smiled at the inevitableness of her question as she asked:
"Were you at the Saturday Afternoon Concert?"
When they had talked for ten minutes with some difficulty, Gertrude, who had finished her letter, left the room: she was
