"It's by a church, and the name is Friar, or Pryor, or--"

"There's a lot of churches," said the cabman; "and this ain't exactly the weather to stand here while you put on your considering cap, with the water pouring off one's hat enough to blind one."

"It's St. Luke's Church. Yes, I am sure it's close to St. Luke's,"

Salome exclaimed. "But Stevens will know--our nurse, who is in the omnibus."

"You want a nurse, you do," said the cabman, "to guide you? Come now, I can't wait here all night."

And now a shout was heard from the omnibus.

"The old lady wants to speak to you," said the conductor. And Salome, looking out at the cab window, saw Stevens frantically making signals and trying to make her voice reach the cab.

"Oh, Stevens knows, Stevens knows the address," and before more could be said, Reginald had jumped out and was soon climbing the steps of the omnibus to hear what Stevens said. He was back in a minute drenched with rain, and saying,--

"Close to St. Luke's Church--Elm Fields--Elm Cottage--Mrs. Pryor."

"All right," said the cabman. "I know--Pryor the baker; I pa.s.s down by there from Whitelands often enough." Then he climbed to his seat, the rain still falling in one continuous rush, and they were off.

"How idiotic of you, Salome, not to know the address," said Raymond; "and I do wish you would keep your hair tight. Look here!" And he gave one of the thick plaits a somewhat rough pull as it lay like a line of light upon Salome's black jacket. "I saw St. Clair looking at it. You didn't take in who he was."

"Some Eton swell, I suppose," said Reginald.

"I thought he was very nice and kind," said Salome.

"Nice and kind! He is Lord Felthorpe's son, and in the same house as I am at Eton. Old Birch always manages to get the right sort of fellows!

How could you be such an a.s.s, Reginald, as to travel third cla.s.s when I had taken a first cla.s.s ticket for you?"

"We ought all to have travelled third cla.s.s," said Reginald stoutly.

"Mother said second; but there is no second on the Midland Railway, so I went third."

"Well, just as you please," said Raymond. "I say, what a neighbourhood this is! not a good house to be seen," and he wiped the window of the cab with his coat-sleeve.

Salome looked out from her window also.

"I don't remember this part of Roxburgh. It cannot be near Uncle Loftus's house, I think."

"Oh no," said Reginald; "that is the swell part--Edinburgh Crescent and Maniston Square and the Quadrant. This is more like a part of Harstone.

Hallo!"

The cab had stopped at last.

"What are we stopping for?" exclaimed Salome.

"I expect this is the place," said Reginald, "for there is a baker's shop, and Pryor over it."

"Nonsense," said Raymond. But the cabman got down and tapped at the blurred gla.s.s, signing to Raymond to let it down, and saying, "Now then, sir, look sharp!"

"This can't be the place,--it's impossible,--it's a mistake."

But now a cheerful voice was heard, and, with a large cotton umbrella held over her, Ruth appeared.

"It's all right! This way, sir, round by the gate. I am sorry you have such a day, that I am; it makes everything look so dismal. Frank will come and help with the luggage."

Salome followed Ruth to the trellised porch, where the clematis was hanging limp and damp, with drops from every tendril. Just within the porch stood Mrs. Pryor. Smiles were not in her way at all. She looked as sad and melancholy as the day, and when the creaking omnibus was heard coming up the road and stopping at the gate, she held up her hands.

"All those boxes! it's ridic'lous to think of getting 'em in."

"Nonsense, mother; Frank will manage that in no time. There's lots of room, and a family must have things to use."

"You walk in, miss," said Ruth to Salome; "tea is all set in the parlour. We thought you would like to have one room kept for meals and one for company."

"Company! what company! Who would ever come near them in that obscure quarter of Roxburgh," Salome thought. And now Raymond made it worse by coming in to declare he should not allow his mother to stay in a hole like this, and that he should go out and look for lodgings the very next day. Whoever took them must be mad, and he should not put up with it.

Even Reginald's good temper was tried to the utmost, and he and Raymond began a fierce wrangle about the cab and omnibus fare; while Stevens, wet and tired and miserable, sat down on one of her big boxes, and seemed as if all exertion were over for her.

"I am wore out," she said. "I have not slept for three nights. I am wore out."

Of course, Mrs. Pryor was too much affronted at Raymond's remarks on her house--the house, with all the highly-polished furniture, which was at once her pride and joy--to volunteer any consolation; but quietly addressing Salome, she said,--

"You have not seen the bed-rooms yet; will you walk up, Miss Wilton?"

Salome followed, saying, as she pa.s.sed Raymond and Reginald,--

"Please do not say any more. I daresay we shall be very comfortable.--And do come up with me, Stevens, and see the rooms."

The gentle, sweet voice softened Mrs. Pryor somewhat. Stevens was pleased to see the bed-rooms neatly furnished, and that not a speck of dust was to be seen; from these upper windows, too, there would be, on clear days, a nice open view; and altogether her spirits rose, and she said "with a few things put here and there she thought she might soon get a bed-room fit for her mistress."

"I am glad mother did not come with us," said Salome. "It will be all settled before Monday. If only Raymond would make the best of it."

CHAPTER VI.

LOSSES AND GAINS.

One really sunny, good-tempered person has a wonderful effect in a household. Ruth Pryor was the sunny element in the two days of rain outside, and discomforts of unpacking inside the house, which followed the arrival of the first instalment of the party from Maplestone. She smoothed down difficulties; she laughed at her mother-in-law's melancholy forebodings that "the party was too grand for her," and that she, who had lived for so many years with a lady of t.i.tle--her dear, departed mistress--was not going to put up with "airs" from a young man like Mr. Raymond.

"It takes a time to get used to everything," Ruth said; "they'll settle down right enough, and so Mrs. Stevens thinks. She says her mistress, poor thing, is too broken down to grumble; and I am sure Miss Wilton is a little angel."

"_Very_ untidy, very careless--dropping things here and there; and she has spilled some ink on the tablecloth."

"A mere speck," said Ruth; "you'd need to put on your spectacles to see it; and a green and black cloth does not show spots."

"Not to _your_ eyes, Ruth; you are far too easy. It's a good thing you have no family."

"There now, mother, don't say that," said Ruth, a shadow coming over her round, rosy face. "You know how I fretted when I lost my baby; and Frank, he fretted enough."