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After breakfast the next day–it was a very plain meal, merely a rasher and dry toast–the lady of the house chatted with her friend more confidentially than ever. Their servant, she said, a good girl but not very robust, naturally could not do all the work of the house, and, by way of helping, Mrs. Rymer was accustomed to ‘see to’ her own bedroom.

‘It’s really no hardship,’ she said, in her graceful, sweet-tempered way, ‘when once you’re used to it; in fact, I think the exercise is good for my health. But, of course, I couldn’t think of asking you to do the same. No doubt you will like to have a breath of air, as the sky seems clearing.’

What could Miss Shepperson do but protest that to put her own room in order was such a trifling matter that they need not speak of it another moment. Mrs. Rymer was confused, vexed, and wished she had not said a word; but the other made a joke of these scruples.

‘When do the children go out?’ asked Miss Shepperson. ‘Do you take them yourself?’

‘Oh, always! almost always! I shall go out with them for an hour at eleven. And yet’–she checked herself, with a look of worry–‘oh, dear me! I must absolutely go shopping, and I do so dislike to take the tots in that direction. Never mind; the walk must be put off till the afternoon. It may rain; but–‘

Miss Shepperson straightway offered her services; she would either shop or go out with the children, whichever Mrs. Rymer preferred. The lady thought she had better do the shopping–so her friend’s morning was pleasantly arranged. In a day or two things got into a happy routine. Miss Shepperson practically became nursemaid, with the privilege of keeping her own bedroom in order and of helping in a good many little ways throughout the domestic day. A fortnight elapsed, and Mrs. Rymer was still unable to ‘suit herself’ with a cook, though she had visited, or professed to visit, many registry-offices and corresponded with many friends. A week after that the subject of the cook had somehow fallen into forgetfulness; and, indeed, a less charitably disposed observer than Miss Shepperson might have doubted whether Mrs. Rymer had ever seriously meant to engage one at all. The food served on the family table was of the plainest, and not always superabundant in quantity; but the table itself was tastefully ordered, and, indeed, no sort of carelessness appeared in any detail of the household life. Mrs. Rymer was always busy, and without fuss, without irritation. She had a large correspondence; but it was not often that people called. No guest was ever invited to lunch or dinner. All this while the master of the house kept regular hours, leaving home at nine and returning at seven; if he went out after dinner, which happened rarely, he was always back by eleven o’clock. No more respectable man than Mr. Rymer; none more even-tempered, more easily pleased, more consistently polite and amiable. That he and his wife were very fond of each other appeared in all their talk and behaviour; both worshipped the children, and, in spite of that, trained them with a considerable measure of good sense. In the evenings Mr. Rymer sometimes read aloud, or he would talk instructively of the affairs of the day. The more Miss Shepperson saw of her friends the more she liked them. Never had she been the subject of so much kind attention, and in no company had she ever felt so happily at ease.

Time went on, and it was near midsummer. Of late Mrs. Rymer had not been very well, and once or twice Miss Shepperson fancied that her eyes showed traces of tears; it was but natural that the guest, often preoccupied with the thought of the promised settlement, should feel a little uneasy. On June 23 Mrs. Rymer chose a suitable moment, and with her most confidential air, invited Miss Shepperson to an intimate chat.