Proceeding upstairs, I entered the room facing me, where a table in the centre was already set out for tea. It was a fair-sized apartment, furnished in that engaging style which is generally associated with the name of the late Queen Victoria. There was a piano, a large horse-hair sofa with an antimacassar over its back, and two chairs of the same material, stiffly arranged on each side of the fireplace. The grate was filled with coloured paper, and from the mantelpiece above a stuffed canary in a glass case looked coldly across at Mr. Frith's attractive reproduction of a busy morning at Paddington Station. Two or three texts, a framed certificate from "The Ancient Order of Buffaloes," and several photographs of popular watering-places mounted on red plush, lent a finishing touch to the general harmony. Laying my hat down on the sofa, I took up a defensive position in front of the hearth. I had not very long to wait, for five minutes could hardly have elapsed when I heard the passage door open, and a sound of voices became audible in the hall below. In spite of the fact that it ought to have benefited by previous experience, I could feel my heart beginning to beat in the most curious and uncontrollable fashion. Then, beautiful as ever, Christine appeared suddenly in the open doorway, and the next moment I was holding her hands in mine. "I can't tell you how badly I've wanted you," I said. "It seems a hundred years since yesterday." She looked up at me in a kind of half-humorous, half-protesting fashion. "Mr. Dryden--please!" she murmured. "They can hear everything you're saying downstairs." I let go her hands, and took an obedient step backwards. "I suppose they can," I said. "I quite forgot that there was anyone else in the world." She came forward into the room. "Besides," she added with a smile, "tea will be up in one moment. They told me that you were waiting till I arrived, so I ordered it while I was in the shop." "You're not going to run away again at once, are you?" I demanded anxiously. "There are a whole heap of things I want to talk to you about." The troubled expression that I had seen before came back suddenly into her face. "I mustn't stay very long--not more than half an hour at the most." "Half an hour!" I repeated in dismay. "You can't possibly have tea in half an hour! Why, it's frightfully dangerous to try and drink hot things in a hurry." Before I could make any further protests I was interrupted by the creak of footsteps laboriously ascending the stairs. There was a chink and rattle of cups and then, panting slightly from her exertions, the lady of the shop emerged into view, heavily burdened with an immense tray. She set this down on the table, and surveyed us with a motherly smile. "If there's anything else you fancy, p'raps you'll give me a call over the banisters," she said. "My sister's gone to a funeral to-day, and I'm all alone in the shop."