“You mistake me. What surprises me is that you are such good friends under the circumstances.” “Circumstances! what circumstances?” “Oh, you know. You are in his confidence, I presume?”--this rather satirically. So the lady answered, defiantly: “Yes, I am; he knows I can hold my tongue, so he tells me things he tells nobody else.” “Then, if you are in his confidence, you know he is about to be married.” “Married! Sir Charles married!” “In three weeks.” “It's a lie! You get out of my house this moment!” Mr. Bassett colored at this insult. He rose from his seat with some little dignity, made her a low bow, and retired. But her blood was up: she made a wonderful rush, sweeping down a chair with her dress as she went, and caught him at the door, clutched him by the shoulder and half dragged him back, and made him sit down again, while she stood opposite him, with the knuckles of one hand resting on the table. “Now,” said she, panting, “you look me in the face and say that again.” “Excuse me; you punish me too severely for telling the truth.” “Well, I beg your pardon--there. Now tell me--this instant. Can't you speak, man?” And her knuckles drummed the table. “He is to be married in three weeks.” “Oh! Who to?” “A young lady I love.” “Her name?” “Miss Arabella Bruce.” “Where does she live?” “Portman Square.” “I'll stop that marriage.” “How?” asked Richard, eagerly. “I don't know; that I'll think over. But he shall not marry her--never!” Bassett sat and looked up with almost as much awe as complacency at the fury he had evoked; for this woman was really at times a poetic impersonation of that fiery passion she was so apt to indulge. She stood before him, her cheek pale, her eyes glittering and roving savagely, and her nostrils literally expanding, while her tall body quivered with wrath, and her clinched knuckles pattered on the table. “He shall not marry her. I'll kill him first!” CHAPTER III. RICHARD BASSETT eagerly offered his services to break off the obnoxious match. But Miss Somerset was beginning to be mortified at having shown so much passion before a stranger. “What have you to do with it?” said she, sharply. “Everything. I love Miss Bruce.” “Oh, yes; I forgot that. Anything else? There is, now. I see it in your eye. What is it?” “Sir Charles's estates are mine by right, and they will return to my line if he does not marry and have issue.” “Oh, I see. That is so like a man. It's always love, and something more important, with you. Well, give me your address. I'll write if I want you.” “Highly flattered,” said Bassett, ironically-wrote his address and left her. Miss Somerset then sat down and wrote: “DEAR SIR CHARLES--please call here, I want to speak to you. yours respecfuly, “RHODA SOMERSET.”