Chapter 26 - Page 2

cheap furnished apartments--a bed and small sitting-room--on the second
floor of a house in a monotonous street of yellow brick houses in the
monotonous yellow brick wilderness of West Kensington. Their search for
rooms would not have occupied them very long if Constance had been as
easily satisfied as her companion; but although in most of the places
they visited she found the bedrooms "good enough," wretched as they were
compared with her own fragrant and spotless bower at Wood End House, she
was not so readily pleased with the sitting-room. That, at all events,
must not wear so mean and dingy a look as one usually has to put up with
when the rent is only ten shillings a week; and beyond that sum they were
determined not to go. The reason of this fastidiousness about a sitting-
room presently appeared. Fan was told the secret of the engagement with
Merton Chance; also that Merton was now for the first time about to be
informed of the step Constance had taken without first consulting him,
and asked to visit her at her lodgings. Constance felt just a little hurt
at the way her news was received, for Fan said little and seemed
unsympathetic, almost as if her friend's happiness had been a matter of
indifference to her.

Next day, after moving into their new quarters, Constance wrote her
letter, addressing it to the Foreign Office, posting it herself in the
nearest pillar-box, and then settled herself down to wait the result. It
was weary waiting, she found, when the next morning's post brought her no
answer, and when the whole day passed and no Merton came, and no message.
She was restless and anxious, and in a feverish state of anxiety, fearing
she knew not what; but outwardly she bore herself calmly; and remembering
with some resentment still how little her engagement had seemed to
rejoice her friend, she proudly held her peace. But she would not leave
the house, for the lover might come at any moment, and it would not do to
be out of the way when he arrived. She remained indoors, pretending to be
much occupied with her writing, while Fan went out for long walks alone.
The next day passed in like manner, the two friends less in harmony and
less together than ever; and when still another morning came and brought
no letter, Fan began to feel extremely unhappy in her mind, for now the
long-continued strain was beginning to tell on her friend, robbing her
cheeks of their rich colour, and filling her hazel eyes with a great
unexpressed trouble. But on that day about three o'clock, while Constance
sat at her window, which commanded a view of the street, she saw a
hansom-cab arrive at the door, and the welcome form of her lover spring
rapidly out and run up the steps. He had come to her at last! But why had