That evening, as Carry and Alice came together out of the room of the invalid, Alice said, “Please come to my room, Miss Walker, for a moment; I want to speak to you alone. I think it right to tell you, in order that you may leave earlier than usual, so as to avoid any risk of a meeting, that he, you understand who I mean, will be here to-morrow at one o’clock.” Carry turned a little pale. “I am not afraid to meet him, Miss Heathcote. It is not I who have to be ashamed, now I know him as he is. My only shame is that I should ever have loved him, ever have been deceived by him. I have long ceased to think of him as anything to me. Now I despise him utterly. Thank you all the same, Miss Heathcote, but I am not afraid of meeting him;” and with an air of pride, which sat strangely upon her usually quiet figure, Carry Walker went home to her father. The next day, at a quarter to one, Alice Heathcote—for Kate had obstinately refused to have any hand whatever in getting her husband out of the way—said, suddenly, “By the way, Frank; I want you to do a commission for me.” “Certainly, Alice, what is it?” “I wish you would go down to the music-shop at the other end of the esplanade, and ask if they have got the ‘Isabella Waltzes.’” “Very well, Alice; but won’t this afternoon do? We can all walk down there together.” “I particularly want them to try after lunch, Frank. I have a particular reason.” “Oh, very well, Alice,” Frank laughed; “if you have got a particular reason, of course there’s an end of it. Come along, Prescott, you may as well walk with me, you have nothing to do.” “Yes, Mr. Prescott has, Frank; I want him here.” “Oh, you do, Alice? You appear to me to have become a species of despot this morning. Well, I suppose I must do as I am told.” Kate beat the ground impatiently with her foot, and would have spoken had not Alice looked imploringly at her. “You savage girl,” Alice said, when Frank had gone out of the room, “you were very nearly stopping him.” “I was,” Kate said, resolutely; “and I’m sorry I didn’t. You may laugh, Arthur, but I’m quite in earnest. I consider it’s cheating Frank shamefully.” Alice did not answer, but turned to Prescott. “Now, Mr. Prescott, will you wheel James in here from the next room? Come, Katie, you will be glad afterwards we have not let you have your own way.” A few minutes afterwards there was a sharp knock at the door. The footman, who had been previously instructed by Prescott to say nothing about the presence of the Maynards, led the way to the drawing-room. As Fred Bingham left the hall, he heard a loud burst of childish laughter. “James!” he called, but the man did not appear to hear, but went on to the door which he opened.