She had been told by her cousin, as they drove in a four-wheeled cab

through the depressing streets of a London suburb, that the family

consisted of his wife and a son and a daughter; that the son's name was

Joseph and the daughter's Isabel; that Joseph was a clerk in the city,

and that Isabel was about the same age as Ida.

"We are a very quiet family," Mr. Heron had said, "and you will no

doubt miss the space and grandeur of Heron Hall, but I trust we are

contented and happy, and that though our means are limited, our sphere

of usefulness is wider than that of some wealthier people. My wife is,

unfortunately, an invalid, and requires constant care and attention;

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but I have no doubt she will find strength to bear any fresh burden

which Providence may see fit to put upon her. Though our circumstances

are comfortable, we are not surrounded by the luxuries which so often

prove a stumbling-block to weaker brethren. I trust you may be happy in

our humble home, and that you may find some opportunity of usefulness

in this new state of life to which you are called."

Ida tried to remember all this as she stood in the centre of the

drawing-room and looked round upon the modern but heavy and ugly

objects with which it was furnished.

The room was seedy and shabby, but with a different seediness and

shabbiness from that of Heron Hall; for there was an attempt to conceal

its loss of freshness with antimacassars, large in size and hideous of

pattern. A grim and ugly portrait of Mr. John Heron occupied a great

portion of one of the walls, and was confronted by a portrait, of a

similar size, of his wife, a middle-class woman of faded aspect and

languishing expression. The other pictures were of the type that one

usually sees in such houses; engravings printed from wornout plates,

and third-class lithographs. There was a large sofa covered with dirty

cretonne, and with a hollow in the middle showing that the spring had

"gone;" the centre-table was adorned by several well-known religious

books arranged at regular intervals. A cage containing a canary hung

between the curtains in the window, and the bird, a wretched-looking

animal--it was moulting--woke up at their entrance and shrilled in the

hateful manner peculiar to canaries. This depressing room was lit by

one gas-burner, which only permitted Ida to take in all that had been

described but vaguely and dimly.

She looked round aghast and with a sinking of the heart. She had never

been in any room like this before, and its lack of comfort, its

vulgarity, struck upon her strained nerves like a loud discordant note

in music; but its owner looked round complacently and turned the gas a

little higher, as he said: "I will go and fetch your cousin. Won't you sit down?"




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