In olden days it boasted a chapel, dedicated to Saint Thomas; beneath which there was a crypt curiously constructed amid the arches, where "was sepultured Peter the Chaplain of Colechurch, who began the Stone Bridge at London:" and it still boasted an edifice (though now in rather a tumbledown condition) which had once vied with a palace,—we mean Nonesuch House. Her father was an astute businessman and a hard worker, but also handsome in the face which had aided partly his ascension to the Guild. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. Very likely by this time the whole truth is known. “Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course.
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