happy married life, Mrs. Bendale, and I trust—er—the business is prospering, if you are still dealing in cutlery."
"Yes, my lord, we own the shop—at least, nominally."
"Ah! Am I wrong, then, in surmising that trade is not as brisk as it should be?"
The woman moistened her lips, struggling with an emotion that prevented reply. His lordship, noting her difficulty, spoke with a breezy pretence of not having seen it.
"But really, Mrs. Bendale, we can't talk confidentially here in the street, can we? It's getting on towards five in the afternoon; won't you come in here and take tea with me? I remember, Sally, if I may be allowed the old name, that at the lodge you were very kind in the matter of cake when I was a youngster, so, as one good turn deserves another, we shall enjoy tea and cake together in memory of old times, if you don't mind."
But the woman drew back; the grandeur of the place of refreshment he had indicated dismayed her. It was one of those palaces lately erected on Piccadilly where a person may breakfast, lunch, or dine on this distinguished thoroughfare at the popular prices of Soho; marble halls that bestowed a sense of distinction upon the masses.
"Oh, I couldn't think of going into such a fashionable place in these clothes!" she gasped.
Once more Lord Stranleigh smiled. He had
