“Did you ever hear Miss Fronde speak of a young gentleman friend of hers, of the name of Harcourt?” “No, sir, never; nor of no one else—not even of yourself, sir. Miss Fronde, good and kind as she was, was very reserved—very much so, indeed, sir.” “Well, Mrs. Brown,” said Hanson, rising, “I am very much indebted to you for all this information. Now I will ask you but one more question, and then bid you good-morning. Do you think that Miss Fronde intends to keep that child with her at Goblin Hall?” “Yes, indeed; I don’t only think it, I know it. She said so. I hope you will make no objections, sir. It would break her heart to part with that child now, though, of course, after she marries, and has children of her own, she will not be so much wrapped up in it.” “Probably not. Well, good-morning. I am off to Goblin Hall by this evening’s express train. Have you any message for Miss Fronde?” “Please give her my best love and respects, and ask her, if she should visit Washington city on her bridal tour, to be sure to come to stay at this house.” “I will. Good-morning.” Hanson left the room and went down with the elevator to the ground floor, where he entered the restaurant, took a seat at a table, and ordered a lunch. While he leisurely discussed his oysters and ale he thought over all that he had heard, and formed his plans upon the information. Harcourt had not reappeared upon the scene of Roma’s life. So much was certain. She was alone at Goblin Hall, comforting her lonely heart with the love of her adopted child—some miserable little waif, offspring of some unknown woman, picked up in an apartment house. He did not even know the name of the child or the woman. He could not remember whether the janitress had ever mentioned those names, nor was he sufficiently interested in Roma’s protégées to try to recollect. Yet, my reader, if Mrs. Brown had chanced to call that mother or child by name Hanson would have been so thunderstruck that he would not have forgotten the circumstances, for, as the personal advertisements say, he would have heard “something to his advantage.” However, this much he knew—that his rival was out of the way, departed for parts unknown; that the Grays were all in Europe; that Roma was at Goblin Hall, unprotected, except by her own strong self, and alone but for the presence of her pet child and her own servants. And he determined to go down to see her there, to try to reconcile her to himself; and in the event of her obstinate refusal, to warn her that he should make an appeal to have the decision of the court that set aside their marriage ceremony as illegal reversed in his favor, on the ground of his compulsory absence from the trial. And this appeal he would make in any case. If she should still be obstinate in her determination to repudiate him he would find means to wring her heart so cruelly that she should be compelled to yield to him.