"Here is a picture of Frederick's dearest friend, who met with--O! such a dreadful death, through the heartlessness of a wicked woman! What did you say his name was, Frederick?" Forced to reply, I said, "Sydney Campbell." I saw that I had to do with a cunning and clever woman, and that all the powers of my mind would be needed to save my father from shame and dishonour. But I had no idea of the scheme my father's wife had devised for my discomfiture, and no suspicion of it crossed my mind even when my father said to me, in the course of the night, "Lydia is charmed with you, Frederick. She says no one in the world has ever been more attentive to her. She loves you with a sister's love. So all things have turned out happily." In this miserable way three weeks passed, without anything further being said, either by her or myself, upon what was uppermost in our minds. Convinced that she was thoroughly on her guard against me, and convinced also of the necessity of my obtaining some kind of evidence before I could broach the subject to my father, I employed a private detective, who, at the end of these three weeks had something to report. The woman, it appears, went out shopping, and as nearly as I can remember I will write the detective's words: "The lady did not go in her carriage. She took a hansom, and drove from one shop to another, first to Regent Street, then to Bayswater, then to the Elephant and Castle. A round-about drive, but I did not lose sight of her. At the Elephant and Castle she went into Tarn's, paying the cabman, who drove off. I have his number and the number of every cab the lady engaged. When she came out of Tarn's, she looked about her, and went into a confectioner's shop near at hand, where there were tables for ladies to sit at. There was nothing in that--she must have been pretty tired by that time. Lemonade and cakes were brought to her, and she made short work of them. There was nothing in that--the lady has a sweet tooth; most ladies have; but I fancied that she looked up at the clock once or twice, a little impatiently. She finished her cakes, and called for more, and before she had time to get through the second plateful, a man entered the shop, and in a careless way took his seat at the same table. As I walked up and down past the window--for it wouldn't have done for me to have stood still staring through it all the time--I saw them talking together, friendly like. There was nothing out-of-the-way in their manner; they were talking quietly, as friends talk. After about a quarter-of-an-hour of this, the man shook hands with her, and came out of the shop. Then, a minute or two afterwards, the lady came out of the shop. She walked about a hundred yards, called a cab, drove to a jeweller's shop in Piccadilly, discharged the cab, came out of the jeweller's shop, took another cab, and drove home. Perhaps you can make something out of it. I can't."