He stood where she had left him, looking after her in bewilderment. For one thing he was sure that she was a stranger, and yet she had addressed him in the tone of one who had a right to be obeyed. Then how odd it was! What a coincidence! He had made up his mind to end the matter, to go and walk the Hot Wells like a good boy; and this happened and tempted him! Yes, tempted him. He would—— But he could not tell what he would do until he had seen if the parcel were really in his room. The parcel! The mere thought that it was hers sent a foolish thrill through him. He would go and see, and then—— But he was interrupted. There were people standing or sitting round the hall, a low-ceiled, dark wainscoted room, with sheaves of way-bills hung against the square pillars, and theatre notices flanking the bar window. As he turned to seek his rooms a hand gripped his arm and twitched him round, and he met the grinning face of a man in his old regiment, Bob Flixton, commonly called the Honourable Bob. “So I’ve caught you, my lad,” said he. “This is mighty fine. Veiled ladies, eh? Oh, fie! fie!” Vaughan, innocent as he was, was a little put out. But he answered good-humouredly, “What brought you here, Flixton?” “Ay, just so! Very unlucky, ain’t it?” grinning. “Fear I’ll cut you out, eh? You’re a neat artist, I must say.” “I don’t know the good lady from Eve!” “Tell that to—— But here, let me make you known to Brereton,” hauling him towards a gentleman who was seated in one of the window recesses. “Old West Indian man, in charge of the recruiting district, and a good fellow, but a bit of a saint! Colonel,” he rattled on, as they joined the gentleman, “here’s Vaughan, once of ours, become a counsellor, and going to be Lord Chancellor. As to the veiled lady, mum, sir, mum!” with an exaggerated wink. Vaughan laughed. It was impossible to resist Bob’s impudent good-humour. He was a fair young man, short, stout, and inclining to baldness, with a loud, hearty voice, and a manner which made those who did not know him for a peer’s son, think of a domestic fowl with a high opinion of itself. He was for ever damning this and praising that with unflagging decision; a man with whom it was impossible to be displeased, and in whom it was next to impossible not to believe. Yet at the mess-table it was whispered that he did not play his best when the pool was large; nor had he ever seen service, save in the lists of love, where his reputation stood high.