Nell examined the portmanteaus first. On one were the initials M. L., on the other J. S. P. One bag had M. L. on it, the other was blank. The two bundles of plaids and umbrellas were not addressed at all. ‘Take that portmanteau and that bag,’ said Nell, intimating the two marked M. L. ‘into the next room, and leave the others here. The gentlemen can sort their own plaids when they come.’ The man did as she told him, and withdrew, as Mrs Llewellyn came bustling into the room to see if the luggage betokened wealth or not. ‘Nice portmantles, ain’t they, Nell?’ she remarked, as she examined the locks and leather. ‘Lor’! what a lot of money young gentlemen do spend on themselves. M. L. I fancy I’ve seen him before. I think that must be Mr Martin Lennox, who was down the year before last. Such a nice, free-spoken young man, and will be an earl some day they told me. J. S. P.,’ she went on, looking at the other portmanteau, ‘I’ve never seen that before. I wonder what it stands for--J. S. P.’ ‘What letters did you say?’ asked Nell curiously. ‘J. S. P., my dear. John something, I suppose. However, it don’t matter to us, so long as they don’t make too much noise when they come home at night. There was one gentleman we had once who was dreadful. He wasn’t content with singing all sorts of songs as soon as he got into his room, but he must go for dancing, and he used to make such a row and keep it up so late, that at last father and I could stand it no longer, and were obliged to speak to Sir Archibald. There was no rest for anyone, and when you have to be up at five o’clock, that’s no joke. So Sir Archibald was very good about it, and sent us a quieter gentleman instead.’ But Nell had heard nothing of her mother’s discourse. She was kneeling down by the portmanteau marked J. S. P., and examining it all over. ‘What do you see there, my lass?’ said Mrs Llewellyn. ‘What’s the matter with it? Anything gone wrong?’ ‘No, mother, nothing--nothing,’ replied the girl, as she rose to her feet again. She was wondering what there was in the stranger’s portmanteau that seemed so familiar to her--where she could have seen it before--for what name the initials J. S. P. stood? The intermediate letter prevented her grasping the truth at once. She had never associated it with the other two. But something about the luggage seemed to bring an old memory with it, and made her feel uneasy. Could it possibly belong to someone whom she had met in Grosvenor Square? or at Thistlemere?--anyone who might recognise her as having been in Lord Ilfracombe’s household? The thought made her turn cold with apprehension.