Cecil Buxton arrived by the train by which he had informed Miss Danvers, by letter, that he would arrive. Hastily seeing his luggage on to a cab, he drove off to the hotel. In the hall he encountered a porter. The porter greeted him in rather a singular manner, scarcely as hotel porters are wont to greet arriving guests. "What! Back again!" Cecil stared, as, under the circumstances, any man would stare. "This won't do, you know. I know all about it--you've been chucked. My orders is, not let you into the place again." "My good man," said Cecil, fully believing that what he said was true, "you're drunk." Just then a lady came down the staircase. He recognised her--recognised her well. He rushed towards her. "Hetty!" he cried. The lady gave a start, but not the sort of start he had reason, and good reason, to expect. She turned, she looked at him--with scornful eyes. She drew back, seeming to remove her very gown from any risk of personal contact. "I half expected to see you at the station. Hetty, what--what's the matter?" The lady said nothing, but she looked at him--and she walked away, her head held very high in the air. "Now you've got to come out of this!" The porter who had followed him across the hall laid his hand upon his shoulder. Cecil swung round. And he not only swung round, but he swung the porter off, and that with a degree of vigour which possibly took that official by surprise. "Remove your hand!" he cried. There was a moment's pause, and during that moment's pause another lady came down the stairs. The bewildered Cecil rushed to her. "Mrs. Danvers, has everybody gone mad? What is the matter with Hetty?" There was no mistake about it this time. The lady was so desirous that none of her garments should come into contact with Cecil that, the better to draw them away from him, she clutched her skirts with both her hands. _She_ spoke-- "How dare you, sir, address yourself to me?" She turned to the porter with an air of command. "Desire this person to stand out of my way." And she swept off, Cecil staring at her like a man in a dream. "Well, sir?" Cecil turned. A decently-attired, and even gentlemanly, individual was standing at his side. "Have you returned to pay your bill?" Cecil looked him up and down. In his appearance he noted no signs of insanity, nor of intoxication either. "Are you the manager of this establishment?" "You know very well that I am. Pray don't let's have any nonsense." "Allow me to give you my card." Cecil handed him his "pasteboard." "I left Paris last night. I have been travelling all day. I arrived five minutes ago in your hotel. What is the meaning of the treatment which has been accorded me?" The manager regarded him with a smile which scarcely came within the definition of a "courteous smile." "You are certainly a character." "Explain yourself."