Who was Mr. Tytherleigh? And what had she, a poor friendless girl, to do with a firm of lawyers? Then it occurred to her that it was Arthur Eden after all who wished to see her, and that he had sent her up this false card only to inveigle her into an interview. Her ideas about the code of a gentleman were somewhat misty. It is true that Eden had taken advantage of her friendless position, and had lied to her, and worn a mask, and deliberately planned to make her his mistress; but he would no more have taken another man's name in order to see her than he would have picked a pocket or sent a libellous post-card. Being ignorant of these fine distinctions, she went down to the little sitting-room on the ground floor greatly fearing. Her visitor was standing at the window on the opposite side of the room, and turned round as she entered; a natty-looking man, middle-aged, with brown moustache, shrewd blue eyes, and a genial expression. “Miss Affleck?” he said, bowing and coming a few steps forward. “Yes, that is my name,” she returned, greatly relieved at finding a stranger. “You look pale--not quite well, I fear. Will you sit down?” he said. Then he added with a smile, “I hope my visit has not alarmed you, Miss Affleck? It is a very simple and harmless matter I have come to you about. We--the firm of Travers and Co.--have been for a long time trying to trace a person named Affleck, and hearing accidentally that a young lady of that name lodged here, I called to make a few inquiries.” While speaking he had taken a newspaper--the _Standard_--from his pocket, and pointing out an advertisement in the second column of the first page, asked her to read it. She read as follows: Margaret Affleck (maiden name). Messrs. Travers, Enwright, and Travers, Solicitors, Lincoln's Inn Fields, wish to communicate with this person, who was in service in London about sixteen years ago, and is supposed to have married about that time. A reward will be given for any information relating to her. “That was my mother's name,” said Fan. “Then may I ask you, why did you not reply to this advertisement, which, you see, is upwards of three years old, and was inserted repeatedly in several papers?” “I never saw it--I did not read the newspapers. But my mother has been dead a long time. I should not have answered this if I had seen it.” “No? That sounds strange. Will you kindly tell me why you call yourself by your mother's maiden name?” She coloured and hesitated for some moments, and then returned, “I cannot tell you that. If my mother was the Margaret Affleck you advertised for, and something has been left to her, or some relation wishes to trace her, it is too late now. She is dead, and it is nothing to me.” This she said with some bitterness and a look of pain; he, meanwhile, closely studying her face.