And here Miss Llewellyn’s thoughts took a rather melancholy turn, and she sat in the carriage with folded arms, hardly noticing the rural scenes through which she was passing, as her memory went back to her girlhood’s days and her girlhood’s companions. She did not notice the time either, until a church clock struck two, and reminded her that she had had no luncheon. She gave the order for home then, but it was nearly three before she reached Grosvenor Square, and the first words the footman, who opened the door to her, said, were to the effect that Mr Portland was waiting for her in the drawing-room. Nell started. She had entirely forgotten the appointment of the day before. ‘In the drawing-room, did you say?’ she ejaculated. ‘I will go to him at once.’ ‘Luncheon is on the table, madam,’ added the servant; ‘shall I tell them to take it downstairs till you are ready?’ ‘It is not worth while,’ replied Miss Llewellyn, ‘I shall only be a few minutes.’ She walked straight up to the drawing-room as she spoke, throwing the hat she had worn on a side table as she entered. ‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Portland,’ she said as he held out his hand to her, ‘but I have been for a country drive, and quite forgot the time.’ ‘That is a very cruel speech, Miss Llewellyn,’ remonstrated her visitor; ‘and when I have been counting the moments till we should meet.’ Jack Portland was always a ‘horsey’ looking man, and it struck Nell that to-day he seemed more horsey than usual. By birth, he was a gentleman; but, like many other gentlemen by birth, he had degraded himself by a life of dissipation, till he had lost nearly all claim to the title. His features, good enough in themselves, were swollen and bloated by indulgence in drink; his manners were forward and repulsive; he had lost all respect for women, and only regarded them as expensive animals who cost, as a rule, much more than they were worth. To Nell he had always been most offensive, not in words, but looks and manners, and she was only decently civil to him for the earl’s sake. Now, as he seemed disposed to approach her side, she got further and further away from him, till she had reached a sofa at the other end of the room. Mr Portland was ‘got-up’ in the flashiest style, but was evidently nervous, though she could not imagine why. His suit was cut in the latest racing fashion, and he wore an enormous ‘buttonhole.’ But his florid face was more flushed than usual, and he kept fidgeting with his watch chain in a curious manner. At last he found his tongue. ‘Were you very much surprised when I asked you for an interview, Miss Llewellyn?’ he commenced. ‘I was, rather. Because I cannot think what you can possibly have to say to me. We have but one subject of interest in common--Ilfracombe--and he is quite well and happy. Else, I might have frightened myself by imagining you had some bad news to tell me concerning him.’ Jack Portland looked at her rather curiously as he replied,--