He had spoken of being soon in London.

But she did not know that she could bear to see him--unless he could help--get something _done!_ Bridget descended to the ground floor, and had a conversation with the young lady in the office, which threw no light at all on the question of lodgings.

The young lady in question seemed to be patting and pinning up her back hair all the time, besides carrying on another conversation with a second young lady in the background.

Bridget was disgusted with her and was just going upstairs again, when the very shabby and partly deformed hall porter informed her that someone--a gentleman--was waiting to see her in the drawing-room.
A gentleman?
Bridget hastened to the small and stuffy drawing-room, where the hall porter had just turned on the light, and there beheld a tall bearded man pacing up and down, who turned abruptly as she entered.
'How is she?
Is there any news ?' Sir William Farrell hurriedly shook her offered hand, frowning a little at the sister who always seemed to him inadequate and ill-mannered.
'Thank you, Sir William; she is quite well.

There is a little news--but nothing of any consequence.' She repeated the contents of the hospital letter, with the comments on it of the lady they had seen at the office.
'We shan't hear anything more for a fortnight.