Thus, angry with myself at having spoken as I had, I strove to remedy whatever impression my words had made by treating my visitor with a studied courtesy, at the same time seeking to discover the real motive of her call. I recollected the mystery, together with the fact that had been elicited regarding the tenancy of the house, and felt convinced that her visit was not without some strong incentive. She either came to me in order to learn something, or else with the object of satisfying herself upon some point remaining in doubt. This thought flashing through my troubled brain placed me on the alert, and as we with mutual eagerness changed the topic of conversation, I sat gazing into her mobile countenance, filled with ecstatic wonder. "As you know," she chattered on, quite frankly, in her rather high-pitched key, "before we left Shenley father had some very heavy losses in the City. At first we found a smaller house simply horrible, but now we are quite used to it, and personally I'm happier there, because we are right on the river and can have such jolly boating." "But Riverdene is not such a very small place, surely?" I said. Dick, who knew the river well, had once told me that it was a fine house situated in one of the most picturesque reaches. "No," she laughed, "not really so very small, I suppose. But why not come down and see for yourself? Mother often speaks of you, and you know you're always welcome." Now, in ordinary circumstances I should have refused that invitation point-blank, but when I reflected that I was bound to make certain inquiries of Mrs. Blain, I, with apparent reluctance, accepted. "Mother will be most delighted to see you. We have tennis very often, and boating always. It's awfully jolly. Come down the day after to-morrow--in the afternoon. I shall tell mother that I met you in the street and asked you down. She must, of course, never know that I came here to see you," and she laughed at her little breach of the _convenances_. "Of course not. I won't give you away," I said. Then suddenly recollecting, I added: "May I get you a cup of tea?" "Oh, no, thanks, really," she answered. "I've been in Regent Street to do some shopping, and I had tea there. I was on my way home, but thought that, being alone, I'd venture to try and find you." "I'm very glad we have met," I said enthusiastically, for, truth to tell, I saw in her opportune invitation a means by which I might get at the truth I sought. There was something extremely puzzling in this allegation that the calm-mannered, affable Mrs. Blain, whom I had known so well, was the actual tenant of the mysterious house in Phillimore Place. Then, looking at her steadily, I added: "In future our relations shall be, as you suggest, those of friendship, and not of affection--if you really wish."