Madame Davilliers' was a very pleasant household. Of course it had not the ease and freedom that reigns in an English home, at least for young people. Antoinette and her friend were treated with the kind of affectionate indulgence suited to infants of tender years, but watched also and guarded with the care due to creatures of the same immature age.

To Lambert and his daughter madame extended a wide indulgence,—"Americans, you know," in an explanatory tone, was always her comment on any eccentricity of theirs. She was exceedingly anxious to settle Elsie judiciously, as she felt convinced she would have a goodly dower, and deeply regretted that she had not a son old enough to demand the charming mademoiselle in marriage. Lambert, however, showed himself reluctant to accept any of her suggestions, and she therefore concluded that he had other plans in view.

Elsie Lambert was very happy with Antoinette. They practiced duets together, and traced patterns, and Elsie read aloud to her friend when she was at work, or repeated to her the stories and poems she had lately read in English, on Glynn's recommendation. Elsie was the master spirit of the two, though Antoinette was by far the bravest and most self-possessed in society.

But amid her contentment Elsie was conscious of an extraordinary want—a void which nothing sufficed to fill; it was the want of those quiet conversations with Glynn, each of which awoke new ideas, new aspirations, new life. He called as he had promised, and was received most graciously by Madame Davilliers in her salon. Both girls were present. Glynn, however, knew well he must not speak more than a few civil words to them, and even his inquiries for Lambert he felt bound to utter in French. But Elsie's expressive eyes told him much. They said frankly and innocently, "I wish I could talk to you. I wish I dare speak as usual. This is all rather tiresome." And he longed unutterably to take her out for a long ramble in the bois, her arm through his own, her sweet candid face uplifted to his, that she might the better comprehend the meaning of his words; but he must not think of such things. He ought to be thankful, especially thankful, that her feelings towards him were so calm and friendly. If he were to read anything of tenderness, of passion, in those lovely blue eyes of hers, why, chaos would be come again! For to call Lambert father-in-law would be chaotic!

"How is M. Vincent?" asked Madame Davilliers, as Glynn rose to take leave one afternoon; "he has not presented himself lately. He is a most interesting man, and quite French in his knowledge of life and character! I shall beg him to give himself the trouble of dining with us on Wednesday next, and I hope that you too, monsieur, will do us the pleasure of joining our little party. Wednesday is the anniversary of our wedding-day, and M. Davilliers proposes to make a little fÊte in its honor. If fine we shall dine at the 'Grande Cascade' at six o'clock; we hope our good friend Monsieur Lambert will return in time for our rÉunion."

"It is also the anniversary of Lodi, and the Grande Cascade will be illuminated," cried Antoinette. "It will be superb."

"Yes, do come, it will be charming," said Elsie.

"I need no persuasion," replied Glynn. "I shall be but too happy to join your party, madame."

During the days which intervened Glynn kept a sharp look-out wherever he went, both for Deering and Vincent, but in vain; he saw no trace of either. The weather was variable, and Glynn offered up earnest prayers for sunshine and blue skies on the eagerly anticipated Wednesday. There were opportunities for a tÊte-À-tÊte in the freedom of a restaurant dinner which were not to be found within the narrow limits of a private dwelling.

The fates were propitious. Wednesday broke bright and warm, and most of the party were assembled when Glynn drove up to the restaurant of the Grande Cascade. Madame Davilliers was richly attired in crimson and black brocade, with white plumes in her bonnet; her daughter in diaphanous dove-color and pink; while Miss Lambert, who was unusually animated, looked lovely in soft, clear white Indian muslin over spring-like green, with abundance of delicate lace, and a poetic little bonnet decorated with violets, which showed the wavy richness of her golden-brown hair.

She was listening with an amused smile to some remarks of Monsieur Davilliers, a good-humored looking and rather ponderous man, with a morsel of red ribbon in his button-hole.

Glynn was warmly greeted by all, including Vincent, who, to his (Glynn's) annoyance, was amongst the guests, magnificently got up in the height of fashion, with a heavy emerald ring fastening his necktie, a brilliant diamond on one little finger, an onyx signet-ring on the other and a massive gold pencil-case and bunch of charms dangling from his guard-chain.

"Is it not unfortunate?" said Elsie in a low tone, when Glynn succeeded in getting near her; "my father cannot return till to-morrow."

"Yes, it is too bad that he cannot come, and that Vincent can."

"Do not look so angry," she returned with a smile. "I am sorry too, and yet I don't know why; he is always very polite and obliging, and seems to be great friends with my father."

"There are instincts—" began Glynn; but dinner was announced, and he was directed to escort a brilliant dame, who made a determined attack upon him, and would not share his attention with any one.

Vincent was placed next Miss Lambert, and appeared to succeed in entertaining her. Altogether Glynn felt provoked, and by no means amused, as he had anticipated.

When dinner was over Vincent proposed that they should take their coffee in the veranda, which was only raised a step above the gardens in front of the restaurant, and from whence they could see the spray of the waterfall glittering in the light of the setting sun. This was readily agreed to, and in the movement which ensued Glynn contrived to place himself near Elsie.

"What an interminable dinner!" he exclaimed.

"Yet you had a very agreeable neighbor?"

"If a forty horse-power of talk constitutes agreeability, I had. I hope your father will return to-morrow. It seems such an age since I heard you sing."

"But I sang to you on Sunday."

"To me? no, to a crowd of strangers, of whom I was one."

"I do not consider you a stranger."

"Thank you; you are infinitely good to say so," gazing into her eyes. "It is a great additional charm to hear you in your own room, with only your father and myself for audience. Do you think me selfish for saying so?"

"No; yet music is music, wherever you hear it."

"Your music is something different from all other," began Glynn, scarcely able to keep back the imprudent expressions which rushed to his lips, so delighted was he to have a few words aside with her.

"I hope you will not go away until my father returns," said Elsie, not seeming to heed his compliment; "he would be sorry to miss you."

"I shall certainly not leave until he returns," said Glynn, feeling himself in some odd way bound to watch over Elsie in Lambert's absence. "Don't you think he will come to-morrow?"

"Mr. Vincent seems to think it probable he may be delayed."

"Indeed! Vincent appeared to have a good deal to say for himself at dinner."

"Yes; he seems to be looking for some one," for Vincent had gone to the edge of the veranda, and was surveying the various groups standing or walking about the little lawn in front of the cafÉ. Presently he bowed and smiled, saying to Madame Davilliers:

"I see an English friend of mine, apparently alone; have I your permission to present him to you? He is a man of fashion and distinction—a Mr. Travers.

"But certainly," cried Madame Davilliers, "any friend of yours, dear sir——"

Vincent stepped forward, while Glynn felt a thrill of angry anticipation. In a few minutes he returned, accompanied by—Deering! Vincent at once presented him to Madame Davilliers, who put on her most elegant manner to receive so distinguished an addition to her party; and Elsie's eyes sought Glynn, saying as distinctly as eyes could say, "You see I was right."

Madame's elegancies were thrown away upon Deering. He understood but little French, and only bowed with a sort of haughty courtesy to his smiling hostess.

"Ah, Glynn, you here?" he exclaimed, turning from her to his compatriot. "I fancied you were at Berlin."

"And I imagined you preparing for the next general election, which is not far off, I suspect," returned Glynn. "I hope you left Lady Frances and your boy quite well."

"They are all right," returned Deering, shortly, and even as he spoke his eyes were rivetted on Miss Lambert with a strange, watchful gaze, at once admiring and hostile. The color slowly rose in her cheek, and she looked away in evident embarrassment, while Glynn felt an almost irresistible impulse to take him by the neck and throw him out of the circle into which he had intruded. But civilization compelled them to exchange polite sentences instead of following their natural tendency—to fly at each other's throats.

"Pray introduce me to your English friends," said Deering to Vincent, with a certain air of condescension.

"The only English-speaking member of our party besides Mr. Glynn is this young lady, and I claim her as American. Miss Lambert, allow me to present Mr. Travers Deering to you."

Glynn noticed that he used both names this time. Was the omission of one of them at first intentional?

"You must take pity on me, and allow me to sit beside you," said Deering, in a carefully softened tone; "for, unfortunately, I cannot speak French, and feel awkward when I am alongside one of our lively neighbors."

He drew a chair by her as he spoke, laying aside his hat and taking his place with the easy, well-bred decision of a man perfectly sure of himself, of his social standing, and his general acceptability. Elsie gazed at him as if fascinated, and Glynn could not help thinking how handsome and lordly and thoroughbred he looked, just the style of man to captivate a girl's imagination.

"Do you know, Miss Lambert, I have some very humble apologies to offer you for my involuntary rudeness. I can only urge that when I saw you at the races, I was so struck by your remarkable likeness to a very charming woman I knew long ago, that I really could not keep my eyes in order."

"You did not offend me," said Elsie, with a quick little sigh, and making a slight unconscious movement, as if to draw nearer Glynn. "I am glad I reminded you of some one you liked."

"I did not say I liked her, though she was charming," returned Deering, with a searching glance and a somewhat cynical smile.

Elsie did not reply; she looked wonderingly at him out of her great serious blue eyes, as if at some curious, dangerous creature.

"So I am to consider myself pardoned?" resumed Deering.

"I have nothing to forgive." Then turning to Glynn, she asked, "Do you think the fireworks will soon begin?"

"Not until it is considerably darker. I suppose we ought to go out to see them; we shall only have a very narrow view here."

"Yes, we can't possibly stay in this corner," exclaimed Deering, looking round impatiently.

"Oh, I fancy madame will make a move," said Vincent, who was hovering about in his character of sponsor to his aristocratic friend.

"I did not know you had so distinguished a circle of French acquaintances," resumed Deering, addressing Glynn, and glancing with slightly elevated eyebrows towards Madame Davilliers and her friends. The glance caught that lady's attention, and induced her to turn the fire of her conversation upon him. To which Deering replied, with the assistance of Miss Lambert and Glynn. On her own account Elsie said very little, and seemed to have lost the brightness that animated her before and during dinner.

At length the first rocket rushed towards the sky, and burst into a cluster of many-colored stars, whereupon every one jumped up and made for the garden, the lawn, the roadway.

"Pray take my arm," said Glynn to Elsie the moment he saw the stampede beginning. "It may not be easy to keep together in the crowd."

"That is not fair, Glynn," said Deering with a smile. "You appropriate the only lady who can speak English, and condemn me to silence for the next hour."

"I am very sorry," said Glynn coolly; "but in Captain Lambert's absence I consider myself in some degree responsible for his daughter."

"Antoinette speaks a little English," said Elsie, "and will be charmed to talk to you—I mean Mademoiselle Davilliers," looking towards her.

"Pray do not trouble yourself," returned Deering hastily, "I can exist for half an hour in an unattached condition; besides, one can always pick up the crumbs which fall from rich men's tables." This with an insolent laugh, which grated on Glynn, as did Deering's whole tone; it conveyed the idea that he was amongst people whom he did not respect sufficiently to feel any restraint, and, moreover, that he was in a bad temper.

Elsie did not require a second invitation. Glynn was amused and touched by the readiness with which she took and almost clung to his arm as they sallied forth and mixed with the crowd. Deering, true to his avowed intention of "picking up the crumbs," kept persistently on her right—her unguarded side—and mastering his ill humor, talked lightly and easily, every now and then planting a query as to her past life, the drift of which Glynn thought he perceived.

"Is it North or South America which has the honor of claiming you, Miss Lambert?"

"Neither; I have never been in America, I was born in Australia."

"Australia! so much for preconceived ideas. I was disposed to swear that you were English born and bred."

"I have been more in England than anywhere else."

"Indeed! whereabouts, may I ask?"

"Look! what a splendid effect!" exclaimed Glynn, who was not too pleased at this acquaintance.

"Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed Elsie, her attention quite diverted. A large star of silvery light had suddenly appeared over the waterfall, through the spray of which it shone in varied prismatic colors, and Vincent coming up at the moment to speak to Deering, Glynn managed dexterously to lose himself and his companion in the crowd, and for a delicious half-hour had her all to himself.

"It is nearly over," he said at last. "Let us make our way to the cafÉ; we were all to assemble there; you are tired, I am sure, and I am afraid Deering has bored you."

"I never know what being bored means exactly. I did not like speaking to him at first, but he can make himself very pleasant, and he looks well. How did he come to know Mr. Vincent? really Mr. Vincent scarcely seems fit to be his servant."

"That is rather strong," said Glynn, laughing, yet with a sense of annoyance at her words; "but his acquaintance with Vincent does seem inexplicable. I wonder if he would ask him to Denham and introduce him to his wife, Lady Frances?"

"Is Mr. Deering's wife a great lady?"

"Yes, thoroughbred, and I suspect with a thoroughbred's power of endurance."

"Is she not happy, then?"

"Elsie, my child," cried Madame Davilliers, close beside them, "we are going to return home. You must go in the carriage with monsieur, Henri Le Clerc, and Madame Dubois; they await you in the veranda. Antoinette is speaking English quite well, but exceedingly well, to M. DÉrin. He is really most distinguished. He ought to learn French."

"I am afraid he is a little too old, madame," said Glynn.

They were soon at the rendezvous: the carriages were ready, and Glynn having wrapped Elsie's cloak round her, was obliged to let Deering hand her into the carriage, as he had stationed himself at the door.

"Good-night, Miss Lambert; I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you soon again,"—with a little ring of triumph in his tone, and she was whirled away into the soft darkness of the summer night.

"Are you going straight back to your hotel?" said Vincent to Deering, when Madame Davilliers had driven off.

"Yes; I shall return with Mr. Glynn, if he will allow me," courteously to the latter, then abruptly to Vincent, "But I shall expect you to-morrow at 10.30 or eleven. I want to hear more about this wonderful colt."

"Very well; I will wish you good-evening.—Oh, by the way, Madame Davilliers' address is 14, Rue de C——, in case you think of honoring her Friday evenings."

"Thank you; good-evening." Then to Glynn, "Shall we stroll towards the lakes? It is such a fine night, and we shall find a fiacre nearer town."

The two men walked on in silence for a few minutes, and then Deering exclaimed, "One is prepared to pay for tips in racing matters, but not quite so high a price as associating with such men implies; that is an awful cad."

"He is; I was infinitely surprised when I saw you appear in the character of his protÉgÉ this evening. How did you come to know him?"

Deering laughed. "How did you?—but I forgot,—he is evidently a popular member of your society. I—I met him in Count Latour's stables, and found he was well up in sporting, or rather turf, matters. There is very little sport in them. He told me a thing or two, and may be of use."

"I did not know you were going in for racing," said Glynn.

"I take a certain interest in it, and I thought you did." He paused, lit a cigar, and then said abruptly, "Vincent tells me you know Miss Lambert's father; in fact, that you are frequently his favored guest. How does it happen that such a girl can be the outcome of a society of bourgeois and sharpers? You must present me to this father when he appears; I should prefer your sponsorship to Vincent's."

"Why do you want to know a set of people so completely out of your line?"

"I have a motive, not a very high one, I confess, but sufficiently powerful—curiosity. I want to find out something about Miss Lambert's people and history, for I am certain I knew a relative of hers, many years ago."

"Well, you had better fall back on your sporting acquaintance for an introduction, he is much more intimate with Captain Lambert than I am."

"Ha! you refuse to be responsible for me? that's deuced shabby! So he calls himself captain? He is rather a queer fish, isn't he?"

"That depends on our respective ideas touching queer fish. He is not a highly-polished, courtly gentleman, but he is not a bad fellow; and he is devoted to his daughter."

"Indeed! Well, Glynn, I believe you have seen a good deal of the world, and it is pleasant to find that so much faith in your fellow-creatures survives the experience."

"Faith is certainly a more agreeable sensation than doubt," returned Glynn, unmoved. "By the way, I quite forgot I had an engagement this evening. I am late already; there is a fiacre." He hailed it. "Will you drive with me, Deering?"

"No, thank you; I shall enjoy my weed and a stroll, so good-night. I'll look you up to-morrow or next day."

"Curiosity," murmured Glynn, as he rolled away towards Paris. "Is it only curiosity? I wonder who Elsie's mother was? It seems too bad that any unholy mystery should hang round so sweet and frank a creature"; and recalling the beautiful eyes which had looked up into his with clear unconsciousness and unhesitating trust Glynn closed his own, and gave himself up to some delightful though disquieting reflections.

"What infernal bad luck!" thought Deering, as he lit his cigar viciously. "I did not dream of meeting that fellow. I never reckoned on such an obstacle. However, cost what it may, I'll get to the bottom of her parentage and history. If my suspicions are right, I must get rid of her or bind her to me indissolubly; and the last would be the pleasanter process. There is a wonderful charm about her, and yet at times I can catch traces of him too! I wonder who this father of hers is? I must get at him. I wish I hadn't been obliged to send that cad Vincent to the right-about so shortly, just to keep up appearances. It is double distilled bad luck to have that fellow Glynn here. But if he thinks he is going to make all the running with Miss Lambert, he is considerably mistaken. She is lovely, so lovely that I almost forgive her for existing."

Glynn waited impatiently for the moment when he could present himself at Madame Davilliers' weekly reception. The reasons why he must remain in Paris multiplied. He could not leave Elsie until her father returned, and then he must stay until he got some clue to Deering's schemes. That there was mischief brewing he felt convinced. Indeed, he was inclined to believe that Deering did not intend giving his real name when Vincent introduced him to Madame Davilliers and her friends, but perceiving Glynn he had probably changed his intentions, and telegraphed accordingly to his associate. Still, considering that Deering bore a fair character, it was highly improbable he would be guilty of any overt baseness.

On reaching Madame Davilliers', Glynn found about half a dozen intimates already assembled. Monsieur's partie at whist had been made up in a small side-room, and in the salon Mademoiselle Antoinette and Elsie, assisted by the singing-master, were performing a trio. Glynn waited till this was over to make his bow to the lady of the house, enjoying from the corner where he had stationed himself an uninterrupted view of Elsie's face, which had the rapt, far-away look it always wore when she was singing. How sweet and noble her expression was. No, he would not leave her, unless he felt sure she was safe and her father forewarned. The trio ended, young Le Clerc pressed forward with animated thanks. Then Elsie looked round, as if seeking some one; when her eyes met Glynn's a bright, happy smile sparkled over her countenance, and she made a movement as if to go to him. He was soon at her side.

"You have some pleasant news, I am sure?" he said, as he took her hand.

"I have indeed. My father has returned; he will be here presently, and he looks so well. He is so refreshed by the sight of the sea that he says he will take me to Brittany, when it grows too hot in Paris."

"You will enjoy Brittany," said Glynn's voice mechanically, while the real man was thinking what a heaven it would be were he alone with her in Brittany, or Buenos Ayres, or Botany Bay, or any other spot on earth, provided they were together, away from every one else. The next instant he was reproaching himself for his weakness, his folly.

"I believe the scenery is very fine," Elsie was beginning, when she was interrupted by the words, "Good-evening, Miss Lambert." Glynn had been so absorbed in her that he had not observed the approach of Deering, until he spoke. Elsie turned to him, still composed and smiling, without any trace of the nervous dread which she had evinced at their first meeting.

"I am in a strange land here," said Deering, when they had exchanged greetings, "so I claim your protection; you must be my guide, philosopher, and friend." He drew a chair forward as he spoke, and Elsie sat down. "Are you a frequent attendant of these soirÉes, Glynn?" he asked, after having bestowed a nod on his countryman. "You are certainly fonder of innocent amusements here than in London!"

"It appears that Paris produces the same effect upon us both," returned Glynn coolly.

"Monsieur Glynn," said Madame Davilliers, sailing up, "will you come and speak to my old friend M. Le Colonel Dubois? He is a most interesting person! He fought at Waterloo in the first year of his service, and is all the fonder of your nation because they were gallant foes."

So Glynn was carried off, to his great annoyance, just as Deering took a seat beside Elsie, and seemed to settle himself for a long talk.

M. Le Colonel Dubois did not find the most attentive listener in Glynn, and was not sorry when the host came to pay his compliments to the octogenarian, and permitted his English guest to escape. Glynn strolled into the next room, and found Miss Lambert still conversing with Deering, with an air of interest too that surprised him. He did not attempt to interrupt them, but stood watching an opportunity of begging Madame Davilliers to ask Miss Lambert for another song. From his position near the portiÈres between the two rooms he could see the door leading to the vestibule. While he looked it opened, and Lambert came in—Lambert in a gorgeous-colored waistcoat and a bright necktie, for evening dress was not indispensable at Madame Davilliers' receptions. There was a joyous twinkle in his eye, an irrepressible air of success in his bearing. He saluted madame with much warmth, and then looked round the room as if seeking his "Jewel." Suddenly an extraordinary change passed over his face. The laughing, joyous, humorous look vanished, and was replaced by a fierce, startled, angry glare, like a wild creature suddenly roused to apprehension and defiance, as if through the thin, smooth coating of lately acquired domesticity, the savage nature of the untamed desperado had broken forth all the more vehemently for its temporary slumber. Glynn saw that his eyes were fixed on Deering, who was smiling and bending forward as he spoke to Elsie. She did not heed him, for she had caught sight of her father, and Deering, struck by her expression, turned to see what had attracted her. Then his face changed too, his jaw closed with a look of rigid determination, his steel-blue eyes lit up with a flash of angry recognition. By an involuntary impulse Glynn started forward to greet Lambert with a vague intention to assist him in recovering his self-control—to aid Elsie's father in any way he could.

"Glynn," said Lambert, gripping his hand hard, "who—who is that man—sitting there—by my—daughter?"

"He is Deering of Denham. Do you object to him?"

"No, why should I? Only I knew a Deering once—not a clean potato by any means! This may not be the same—Ah, Elsie, my child! Come here, keep by me."

"What is the matter, dear? You are not like yourself," she exclaimed, as she came up and passed her arm through his.

"Not like myself! you are wrong there." Then with a sort of effort he went straight up to Deering and said audibly in English, "We have met before, sir, have we not?"

Deering, who was considerably the taller, looked down on him from the ineffable heights of his social superiority, and replied deliberately,

"I have certainly had the pleasure of your acquaintance some years ago."

Then they stood silent, eye to eye—silent, yet exchanging deadly defiance. Deering, the most self-possessed of the two, was the first to speak.

"I fancy we have seen some changes since we met. Paris is not a bad place to anchor in after a wandering life, especially when one has so charming a companion as—Miss Lambert," adding the name after a slight pause.

"How do you know my daughter?" abruptly.

"Your friend, Mr. Vincent, was good enough to present me," said Deering calmly, with some emphasis on the name.

"My father seems to have found another acquaintance," said Elsie to Glynn. "It is curious."

Glynn scarce knew what to say. It was probable that Deering had known Lambert by some other name, known him under more doubtful circumstances than even he (Glynn) had. The idea stung him with a sense of angry pain. Deering was the last man to be trusted with such knowledge.

"Mr. Deering has been telling me about the lady of whom I remind him," resumed Miss Lambert. "She must have been very sweet and very charming, but most unhappy; her husband was murdered. I was quite interested, but I hope the likeness is not an evil omen."

"Impossible," cried Glynn. "Do not think of omens. Here comes Madame Davilliers to ask you to sing; pray do not refuse."

While he spoke with Miss Lambert, Glynn noticed that her father and Deering exchanged a few sentences in a low tone, and that Lambert, although he had completely mastered his temporary disturbance, had by no means recovered his spirits. A look of care and thought clouded his brow, though he spoke with some animation to one or two acquaintances. Deering on the contrary looked supremely calm, with something of exultation in his cold, light eyes.

"Miss Lambert sings well," he said. "I am no great judge of music, nor do I care for it, yet I should imagine that such a voice, such a style, ought to be worth a good deal of money."

"I don't intend her to sell her songs," said Lambert, roughly. "And now, Madame Davilliers, I'll wish you good-night. I'm a bit tired after my journey. Elsie, get on your hat. I'll take her home with me to-night, madame, with a thousand thanks for your good care."

Elsie rose from the piano, and cast an anxious look on her father. Then she gave her hand to Glynn, bowed to Deering, presented her brow to madame's kiss, and slipping her arm through Antoinette's, left the room.

"Let me see you soon," said Lambert to Glynn. "You do not return to London just yet?"

"Not this week, at least."

"Suppose you breakfast with me to-morrow, Captain Lambert," said Deering. "We'll smoke the pipe of peace, and talk over our adventures by flood and field."

"Thank you," shortly, "I never breakfast away from home."

"Oh, indeed! Then I shall call on you, and pay my respects to Miss Lambert at the same time," returned Deering in a tone of imperturbable good breeding.

Lambert, who was making his adieux to Madame Davilliers, did not seem to hear, but before he reached the door he turned quickly back, and said in a constrained tone to Deering:

"I cannot breakfast with you, but I will call at your hotel to-morrow morning at 10.30."

"That is wiser," said Deering, with quiet superiority.

Glynn was greatly struck by the significance of these words. What hold had Deering over the wandering adventurer, who seemed as far removed from the haughty English gentleman as the east is from the west?

He walked home revolving this question and others. Every day increased the fascination which Lambert's daughter unconsciously exercised over him; every day showed more and more clearly the unsuitability, nay, from a common-sense point of view, the impossibility of allying himself with so doubtful a character as poor Lambert.

On reaching his hotel, the concierge handed him several letters, and when safe within his own room he opened them. One proved to be from his firm on business which compelled his immediate return to London.

He had seldom been so annoyed and irritated as by this unavoidable necessity to quit the scene of the mysterious drama which interested him so intensely. He might be prudent enough, mean enough, to shrink from linking himself for life with a creature who was probably too good for him, but he would not desert Lambert in a difficulty. He would return as soon as possible and see him clear of Deering. Seizing his pen he wrote a hasty line to the effect that he was obliged to run over to London for a week, but would return without fail, adding his private address. When this had been sealed, stamped, and directed to Lambert, he rang and ordered his bill and a very early cup of coffee next morning.

"The first train for Calais leaves at seven in the morning," said the waiter. "There is an earlier one about five, I think, by the Dieppe route, but you gain no time, for the trajet is longer."

"Of course I will go by Calais," returned Glynn. "Do not fail to call me in good time."