It was eleven o'clock on a fine morning in March, and Hughie had been to Putney to stroke a scratch eight against the Cambridge crew, who had rowed a full trial on the early flood and required a little pacing between bridges. Presently the sitting-room door opened, and John Alexander Goble presented himself upon the threshold. Since his unregenerate days on board the Orinoco a new and awful respectability had descended upon him, and in his sober menial attire he looked more like a Calvinistic divine than ever. He regarded his employer with some displeasure. "Your breakfast has been sitting in the fender these twa hours," he observed bitterly. "Sorry, John. Afraid I forgot to countermand it. I had some at Putney." "At what hour?" inquired the inexorable Mr. Goble. "Half-past seven, about, with the crew." "It's eleven the noo. You'll be able for some mair, I doot. Forbye it's a pity to waste good food. Bide you, while I'll get it." Hughie, who was as wax in the hands of his retainer, presently found himself partaking of a lukewarm collation and opening his letters. He glanced through the first. "John!" he called. Mr. Goble appeared from the bedroom. "Were you cryin' on me?" he inquired. "Yes. Did two gentlemen call here at ten?" "Aye." "Who were they?" "Yon felly Gaymer, and anither." "Who was he?" "I couldna say." "What was he like?" Mr. Goble cast about him for a suitable comparison. "He was just a long drink o' watter," he announced at last, with an air of finality. "Did he look--like an actor?" inquired Hughie, with a flash of intuition. "Worse than that," replied Goble. "Um--I think I know him. Thank you, that will do. By the way, I'm expecting some friends to lunch. Captain and Mrs. Leroy--and Mr. D'Arcy. You know him, don't you?" "D'Arcy? Aye, I mind him fine. A fat yin, wi' a lum hat tied up wi' string. A popish-lookin' body," commented Mr. Goble sorrowfully. He retired downstairs, to ponder upon the dubiety of the company into which his employer appeared to be drifting, and Hughie returned to his letters. The sight of the next caused him to glow suddenly, for on the back of the envelope he observed the address of Joan's flat. But he cooled when he turned it round and read the superscription. It was in the handwriting of the lady with whom Joan shared the flat. "DEAR MR. MARRABLE [it said],-- "Joan and I are coming to call on you to-morrow about twelve--" "They'd better stay to lunch." Hughie touched the bell and continued,-- "Dear Joan is very young in some ways, and she has no idea of the value of money; but since talking the matter over with _me_ recently, she would like to have a few words with you about her financial position. "How delightful to see the leaves coming out again!--Believe me, yours sincerely, "URSULA HARBORD."