She did not seem to notice particularly when I raised the gloved hand I held and pressed it to my lips at parting. It was an act that any lady might pardon, and she probably thought nothing of it. "To-morrow, then, at three," she said, smiling at me from the curbstone. "Yes. Don't keep me waiting," I answered, remembering the morning. "I will try not to; these dressmakers are so unreliable, though. You--you wouldn't rather I would come to your rooms? Perhaps there is another of those rules we have been running across, against it. If there is none, and you prefer--" I said I approved of the idea highly and that I was at liberty to invite to my apartment any person I pleased. "You spoke of a machine that I have never used," said Miss May, tentatively. "If you have one there, as a sort of excuse--" "I have one," said I. "Although it won't be needed for that purpose. You remember the number, -- West Thirty-fourth." She nodded and spoke to my driver, repeating it to him. Then with another of her bright smiles she waved me good-by and ascended the steps, while I was driven away. "Henry," I was saying ten minutes after, to the hall boy, "I expect a young lady to-morrow, between three and four, who will ask for Mr. Camwell." "There isn't any Mr. Camwell in the house, sir," said the boy. "There will be at that hour. He will be in my rooms. You may not see him enter and you may not see him leave, but he will be here. All you have to do is to say 'Yes, ma'am,' to the lady and bring her to my door." "I understand," said Henry, with a wholly superfluous grin, that showed how little common sense the average hall-boy possesses. "No, you don't understand anything," I responded, snappishly. "Do as I order and you'll lose nothing. Make the least mistake and I will see that you get your notice." He responded meekly that he would be careful and then handed me a letter, which I saw was from Miss Brazier. He also said that Mr. Barton had called and expressed surprise when he heard that I had left no word for him. Poor Tom! It came to my recollection all at once that I had promised to spend the evening at his house, or send him a note if unable to do so. Well, I would write him an apology before I went to sleep. This is what Miss Brazier said: Dear Mr. Camwell:--I wish I could understand you, but the riddle grows harder and harder. Sometimes you seem a combination of Don Quixote, Mephistopheles and Hector Greyburn. At one moment I believe you the greatest wretch alive; at the next I ascribe your sentiments to the buoyancy of youth and convince myself that you are at heart an honorable man.