The Lady of the Basement Flat. Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey

would fall, and the dust lie thick, but there would be colour and life, and on the air faint wafts of perfume.

      We went back to the porter’s room to hear the particulars of the lease, and on my way I stopped to read the list of names printed on little slides on a mahogany board. There were forty in all, and they were as illuminating as such names usually are, when suddenly, three parts down the list, I came upon one which made my heart leap into my mouth. I stood reading the few words over and over, actually spelling the letters in my incredulous surprise, but there it was; there was no doubt about it—the words plainly printed for every one to see—

      “Number 32. Mr. Wenham Thorold.”

      Well, talk about fate! There are some circumstances under which one realises at once that it is useless to struggle. This was one! I turned to the porter with an air of resignation.

      “I will take the flat. Please prepare the necessary papers, and send them to me to sign.” Then I gave him my new name. After due deliberation I had determined to be “Miss Mary Harding,” as Wastneys is unusual, and might draw undesirable attention. Miss Mary Harding, of a basement flat!