She called on him--she who had never called on a man before. She raged with jealousy; she melted with grief. She played on him with all a woman's artillery; and at last actually wrung from him what she called a reprieve. Richard Bassett called on her, but she would not receive him; so then he wrote to her, urging co-operation, and she replied, frankly, that she took no interest in his affairs; but that she was devoted to Sir Charles, and should keep him for herself. Vanity tempted her to add that he (Sir Charles) was with her every day, and the wedding postponed. This last seemed too good to be true, so Richard Bassett set his servant to talk to the servants in Portman Square. He learned that the wedding was now to be on the 15th of June, instead of the 31st of May. Convinced that this postponement was only a blind, and that the marriage would never be, he breathed more freely at the news. But the fact is, although Sir Charles had yielded so far to dread of scandal, he was ashamed of himself, and his shame became remorse when he detected a furtive tear in the dove-like eyes of her he really loved and esteemed. He went and told his trouble to Mr. Oldfield. “I am afraid she will do something desperate,” he said. Mr. Oldfield heard him out, and then asked him had he told Miss Somerset what he was going to settle on her. “Not I. She is not in a condition to be influenced by that, at present.” “Let me try her. The draft is ready. I'll call on her to-morrow.” He did call, and was told she did not know him. “You tell her I am a lawyer, and it is very much to her interest to see me,” said Mr. Oldfield to the page. He was admitted, but not to a _tete-a-tete._ Polly was kept in the room. The Somerset had peeped, and Oldfield was an old fellow, with white hair; if he had been a young fellow, with black hair, she might have thought that precaution less necessary. “First, madam,” said Oldfield, “I must beg you to accept my apologies for not coming sooner. Press of business, etc.” “Why have you come at all? That is the question,” inquired the lady, bluntly. “I bring the draft of a deed for your approval. Shall I read it to you?” “Yes; if it is not very long.” He began to read it. The lady interrupted him characteristically. “It's a beastly rigmarole. What does it mean--in three words?” “Sir Charles Bassett secures to Rhoda Somerset four hundred pounds a year, while single; this is reduced to two hundred if you marry. The deed further assigns to you, without reserve, the beneficial lease of this house, and all the furniture and effects, plate, linen, wine, etc.” “I see--a bribe.” “Nothing of the kind, madam. When Sir Charles instructed me to prepare this deed he expected no opposition on your part to his marriage; but he thought it due to him and to yourself to mark his esteem for you, and his recollection of the pleasant hours he has spent in your company.”