windows you could see the dome of St. Paul's. Audley Court, with its pretty name, which reminded Hyacinth of Tennyson, proved to be a still dingier nook than Lomax Place; and it had the further drawback that you had to pass through a narrow alley, a passage between high, black walls, to enter it. At the door of one of the houses the young men paused, lingering a little, and then Muniment said, 'I say, why shouldn't you come up? I like you well enough for that, and you can see my sister; her name is Rosy.' He spoke as if this would be a great privilege, and added, humorously, that Rosy enjoyed a call from a gentleman, of all things. Hyacinth needed no urging, and he groped his way, at his companion's heels, up a dark staircase, which appeared to him—for they stopped only when they could go no further—the longest and steepest he had ever ascended. At the top Paul Muniment pushed open a door, but exclaimed, 'Hullo, have you gone to roost?' on perceiving that the room on the threshold of which they stood was unlighted.
'Oh, dear, no; we are sitting in the dark,' a small, bright voice instantly replied. 'Lady Aurora is so kind; she's here still.'
The voice came out of a corner so pervaded by gloom that the speaker was indistinguishable. 'Dear me, that's beautiful!' Paul Muniment rejoined. 'You'll have a party, then, for I have brought some one else. We are poor, you know, but I daresay we can manage a candle.'
At this, in the dim firelight, Hyacinth saw a tall figure erect itself—a figure angular and slim, crowned with a large, vague hat, surmounted, apparently, with a flowing veil. This
