"Yes, as, perhaps, you shall find," answered Longcluse, with sudden and oracular ferocity. Each gentleman had gone a little farther than he had at first intended. Richard Arden had a proud and fierce temper when it was roused. He was near saying what would have amounted to insult. It was a chance opening of the door that prevented it. Both gentlemen had stood up. "Please, Sir, have you done with the room, Sir?" asked the man. "Yes," said Longcluse, and laughed again as he turned on his heel. "Because three gentlemen want the room, if it's not engaged, Sir. And Lord Wynderbroke is waiting for you, please, Mr. Arden." So with a little toss of his head, which he held unusually high, and a flushed and "glooming" countenance, Richard Arden marched a little swaggeringly forth, to his dinner _tête-à-tête_ with Lord Wynderbroke. CHAPTER XXVIII. STORIES ABOUT MR. LONGCLUSE. The irritation of this unpleasant interview soon subsided, but Mr. Longcluse's anxiety rather increased. Next day early in the afternoon he drove to Lady May's and she received him just as usual. He learned from her, without appearing to seek the information, that Alice Arden was still at Mortlake. His visit was one of but two or three minutes. He jumped into a hansom and drove out to Mortlake. He knocked. Man of the world as he was, his heart beat faster. "Is Miss Arden at home?" "No, Sir." "Not at home?" "Miss Arden is gone out, Sir." "Oh! perhaps in the garden?" "No, Sir; she has gone out, and won't be back for some time." The man spoke with the promptitude and decision of a servant instructed to deny his mistress to the visitor. He had not a card; he would call again another day. He heard the piano faintly, and, he thought, Alice's voice also; and certainly he saw Vivian Darnley in the drawing-room window, as his cab turned away from the door. With a swelling heart he drove into town. The portcullis, then, had fallen; access was denied him; and he should see her no more! Good Heaven! what had he done? He walked distractedly, for a while, up and down his study. Should he employ Lady May's intervention, and tell her the whole story? Good-natured Lady May! Perhaps she would undertake his cause, and plead for his re-admission. But was even that so certain? How could he tell what view she might take of the matter? And were she to intercede for him ever so vehemently, how could he tell that she had any chance of prevailing? No; on the whole it was better to be his own advocate. He would sit down then and there, and write to the offended or alarmed lady, and lay his piteous case before her in his own words and rely on her compassion, without an intervenient.