THE ladies went down together, and found Vizard ready. Mr. Severne was not in the room. Zoe inquired after him.

“Gone to get a sun-shade,” said Vizard.

“There!” said Zoe to Fanny, in a triumphant whisper. “What is that for but to go with us?”

Fanny made no reply.

They waited some time for Severne and his sun-shade.

At last Vizard looked at his watch, and said they had only five minutes to spare. “Come down, and look after him. He must be somewhere about.”

They went down and looked for him all over the Platz. He was not to be seen. At last Vizard took out his watch, and said, “It is some misunderstanding: we can't wait any longer.”

So he and Zoe went to the train. Neither said much on the way to Homburg; for they were both brooding. Vizard's good sense and right feeling were beginning to sting him a little for calling on the Klosking at all, and a great deal for using the enthusiasm of an inexperienced girl to obtain an introduction to a public singer. He sat moody in his corner, taking himself to task. Zoe's thoughts ran in quite another channel; but she was no easier in her mind. It really seemed as if Severne had given her the slip. Probably he would explain his conduct; but, then, that Fanny should foretell he would avoid her company, rather than call on Mademoiselle Klosking, and that Fanny should be right—this made the thing serious, and galled Zoe to the quick: she was angry with Fanny for prophesying truly; she was rather angry with Severne for not coming, and more angry with him for making good Fanny's prediction.

Zoe Vizard was a good girl and a generous girl, but she was not a humble girl: she had a great deal of pride, and her share of vanity, and here both were galled. Besides that, it seemed to her most strange and disheartening that Fanny, who did not love Severne, should be able to foretell his conduct better than she, who did love him: such foresight looked like greater insight. All this humiliated and also puzzled her strangely; and so she sat brooding as deeply as her brother.

As for Vizard, by the time they got to Homburg he had made up his mind. As they got out of the train, he said, “Look here, I am ashamed of myself. I have a right to play the fool alone; but I have no business to drag my sister into it. We will go somewhere else. There are lots of things to see. I give up the Klosking.”

Zoe stared at him a moment, and then answered, with cold decision, “No, dear; you must allow me to call on her, now I am here. She won't bite me.”

“Well, but it is a strange thing to do.”

“What does that matter? We are abroad.”

“Come, Zoe, I am much obliged to you; but give it up.”

“No, dear.”

Harrington smiled at her pretty peremptoriness, and misunderstood it. “This is carrying sisterly love a long way,” said he. “I must try and rise to your level. I won't go with you.”

“Then I shall go alone.”

“What if I forbid you, miss?”

She tapped him on the cheek with her fingers. “Don't affect the tyrant, dear; you can't manage it. Fanny said something that has mortified me. I shall go. You can do as you like. But, stop; where does she live?”

“Suppose I decline to tell you? I am seized with a virtuous fit—a regular paroxysm.”

“Then I shall go to the opera and inquire, dear. But” (coaxingly) “you will tell me, dear.”

“There,” said Harrington, “you wicked, tempting girl, my sham virtue has oozed away, and my real mania triumphs. She lives at 'The Golden Star.' I was weak enough to send Harris in last night to learn.” Zoe smiled.

He hailed a conveyance; and they started at once for “The Golden Star.”

“Zoe,” said Harrington gravely, “something tells me I am going to meet my fate.”

“All the better,” said Zoe. “I wish you to meet your fate. My love for my brother is not selfish. I am sure she is a good woman. Perhaps I may find out something.”

“About what?”

“Oh, never mind.”