“Sir,” said he, “pray excuse this intrusion of a stranger, but I am in great anxiety. It is not for myself, but for a lady, a very distinguished lady, whose interests I am charged with. It is Mademoiselle Klosking, the famous singer.” Vizard maintained a grim silence. “You may have heard of her.” “I have.” “I almost fancy you once heard her sing--at Homburg.” “I did.” “Then I am sure you must have admired her, being a gentleman of taste. Well, sir, it is near a fortnight since I heard from her.” “Well, sir?” “You will say what is that to you? But the truth is, she left me, in London, to do certain business for her, and she went down to this very place. I offered to come with her, but she declined. To be sure, it was a delicate matter, and not at all in my way. She was to write to me and report progress, and give me her address, that I might write to her; but nearly a fortnight has passed. I have not received a single letter. I am in real distress and anxiety. A great career awaits her in England, sir; but this silence is so mysterious, so alarming, that I begin actually to hope she has played the fool, and thrown it all up, and gone abroad with that blackguard.” “What blackguard, sir?” Joseph drew in his horns. “I spoke too quick, sir,” said he; “it is no business of mine. But these brilliant women are as mad as the rest in throwing away their affections. They prefer a blackguard to a good man. It is the rule. Excuse my plain speaking.” “Mr. Ashmead,” said Vizard, “I may be able to answer your questions about this lady; but, before I do so, it is right I should know how far you possess her confidence. To speak plainly, have you any objection to tell me what is the precise relation between you and her?” “Certainly not, sir. I am her theatrical agent.” “Is that all?” “Not quite. I have been a good deal about her lately, and have seen her in deep distress. I think I may almost say I am her friend, though a very humble one.” Vizard did not yet quite realize the truth that this Bohemian had in his heart one holy spot--his pure devotion and unsexual friendship for that great artist. Still, his prejudices were disarmed, and he said, “Well, Mr. Ashmead, excuse my cross-questioning you. I will now give myself the pleasure of setting your anxieties at rest. Mademoiselle Klosking is in this house.” Ashmead stared at him, and then broke out, “In this house! O Lord! How can that be?” “It happened in a way very distressing to us all, though the result is now so delightful. Mademoiselle Klosking called here on a business with which, perhaps, you are acquainted.” “I am, sir.”