I felt the awkward position that in such a case I should be placed: of how impossible it would be for me to explain to my trustee that I had had Tessie’s welfare at heart, more than that of the Baron, in persuading him to give up play, and that in going against the father’s wishes, I had been doing my very best for the daughter. Mr. Lovett would say, and naturally think, that he knew what would secure his child’s happiness better than myself, and I had no right to interfere. It would be very difficult to convince him that, beyond the pity which all right-minded people must feel to see a fellow creature throwing away his chances of happiness in this world, I had had no motive in advising the Baron to secure his. So that the name of De Nesselrode was rather a bugbear to me at that time; and I always felt my best safety lay in being present, if possible, at his interviews with Mr. Lovett. So, on hearing Ange’s last piece of intelligence, I threw my half-finished letter into my blotting-case, and smoothed my hair before the looking-glass. ‘You need not wait, Ange. I will be down directly!’ I exclaimed. ‘Ah, I thought _that_ would bring you, mademoiselle!’ she called out with such a merry laugh, as she ran down the corridor, that I stopped short with the brush in my hand, to consider whether _petite_ Ange had not been having a little amusement at my expense, and I should find myself in the arms of Mrs. Carolus after all. However, I resolved to go and see. I followed her so quickly, that I caught her up in our little sitting-room, tying back her hair with a black ribbon. ‘He’s such a _nice_ young man!’ she said demurely; ‘and Tessie is making such violent love to him already!’ ‘Ange, what a goose you are! I know it is only the Baron!’ ‘Well, go and see for yourself. If it is the Baron, he has dyed his hair!’ I opened the door of the _salle_ quietly and looked in. No, it was decidedly not the Baron. That light-grey tweed suit and stuck-up collar never belonged to any one but an Englishman. Ah, I had it now! It was my young friend of the steamboat—Mr. Charteris’s cousin, Frederick Stephenson. I advanced quickly to bid him welcome. He turned round, and proved to be—Charlie Sandilands! Oh, I _was_ so pleased to see him! All the blood in my body, I verily believe, rushed to my face as I darted forward with both hands outstretched to grasp his. ‘Charlie!’ I exclaimed eagerly. ‘Oh, Charlie, my dear old boy! wherever did you spring from?’ ‘I thought you would be surprised to see me, Hilda,’ he replied, with his eyes fixed upon my countenance; ‘but I couldn’t help coming—I couldn’t, upon my word! I’ve got my annual leave, you see; and I did want to see you so much, that I put off taking it until I could spend it in St. Pucelle.’ ‘Oh, how good of you, Charlie! And how long will you be here?’ ‘Nearly a month, Hilda, unless you are sick of me before that time—in which case I shall go back to Norwood.’