The explanation was rather stammering and confused.

“But at least, mother,” she added, with her eyes still downcast, “at least I can be frank with you.  There is no harm in my telling you that I love you.”

The mother pressed the hand that she held in hers.

“And if you tell me often enough, Natalushka, perhaps I shall begin to believe you.”

CHAPTER XXXIX.

A NEW HOME.

George Brand set out house-hunting with two exceptional circumstances in his favor:  he knew precisely what he wanted, and he was prepared to pay for it.  Moreover, he undertook the task willingly and cheerfully.  It was something to do.  It would fill in a portion of that period of suspense.  It would prevent his harassing himself with speculations as to his own future—­speculations which were obviously useless until he should learn what was required of him by the Council.

But none the less was he doomed to the house-hunter’s inevitable disappointment.  He found, in the course of his devious wanderings through all sorts of out-of-the way thoroughfares within a certain radius from Brompton Church, that the houses which came nearest to his ideal cottage in a walled garden were either too far away from Hyde Park, or they were not to be let, or they were to be let unfurnished.  So, like a prudent person, he moderated his desires, and began to cast about for any furnished house of fairly cheerful aspect, with a garden behind.  But here again he found that the large furnished houses were out of the question, because they were unnecessarily expensive, and that the smaller ones were mostly to be found in slummy streets; while in both cases there was a difficulty about servants.  The end of it was that he took the first floor of an old-fashioned house in Hans Place, being induced to do so partly because the landlady was a bright, pleasant-looking little Frenchwoman, and partly because the rooms were furnished and decorated in a fashion not common to lodging-houses.

Then came the question of terms, references, and what not; and on all of these points Mr. Brand showed himself remarkably complaisant.  But when all this was done he sat down, and said,

“Now I wish you to understand me clearly, madame.  This lady I have told you about has come through much trouble; you are to be kind to her, and I will see you do not lose by it.  Her daughter will come to see her frequently, perhaps every day; I suppose the young lady’s maid can remain down-stairs somewhere.”

“Oh yes, sir.”

“Very well.  Now if you will be so good as to get me pen and ink I will give you a check for fifty-two pounds—­that is, a pound a week for a year.  You see, there are a number of little kindnesses you could show this poor lady that would be all the more appreciated if they were not put down in a book and charged for:  you understand?  You could find out, perhaps, from time to time some little delicacy she is fond of.  Then flowers:  there is a good florist’s shop in Sloane Street is there not?”