any one, it must quite necessarily be my friend.'
Mrs. Jordan was now also on her feet. 'Is Captain Everard your friend?'
The girl considered, drawing on a glove. 'I saw, at one time, an immense deal of him.'
Mrs. Jordan looked hard at the glove, but she had not, after all, waited for that to be sorry it was not cleaner. 'What time was that?'
'It must have been the time you were seeing so much of Mr. Drake.' She had now fairly taken it in: the distinguished person Mrs. Jordan was to marry would answer bells and put on coals and superintend, at least, the cleaning of boots for the other distinguished person whom she might—well, whom she might have had, if she had wished, so much more to say to. 'Goodbye,' she added; 'good-bye.'
Mrs. Jordan, however, again taking her muff from her, turned it over, brushed it off, and thoughtfully peeped into it. 'Tell me this before you go. You spoke just now of your own changes. Do you mean that Mr. Mudge———?'
'Mr. Mudge has had great patience with me—
