"No, no, I couldn't be left alone; I've never been alone before in my life. That would be worse than all else. You see, if you were only related to me it would be so different." "I am quite willing to pass myself off as any relation you please, for the sake of appearances." "But that would be deceitful." "I think the exigencies of the case will excuse that; besides, it is my own affair, not yours. Will you have me as a brother for one night only?" he asked, laughing. "But I have no brother," she replied. "Then as your husband's brother," he suggested; "that would be better still, as he is an American and not known here." "Do you really think it best?" "To save you annoyance, I think it is a pardonable deception. What is his name?" "Richard. But I don't know much about him." "Then we will consider that that is settled," he said cheerfully, and, without giving her time to argue the matter, summoned a fly, which presently deposited them bag and baggage at the hotel door. To make assurance doubly sure, he hastened to sign their names in the visitors' book: "Mrs. Robert Allingford, Christchurch, England. "Mr. Richard Allingford, U.S.A." "Can you give my sister and me good rooms for to-night?" he asked the landlady. "Yes, sir, two nice rooms just opposite each other." He said that that would do very well, and they were soon installed. Once in her apartment, Mrs. Allingford indulged in a good cry, while Scarsdale strolled out before dinner to have a smoke and think it over. He did not see much further use in telegraphing just at that moment. Later it would, perhaps, be well to send a message to Basingstoke, saying that they were detained at Winchester and would come on next morning; for he had quickly learned that Mrs. Scarsdale and Mr. Allingford would be able to leave the train at Salisbury, and justly surmised that they had done so. Presently, having finished his cigar, he returned to the hotel to find Mrs. Allingford ready for dinner, and much refreshed by her tears and subsequent ablutions. They neither of them ate much, and after the fish they gave up any attempt to make conversation as worse than useless, and finished the repast in silence. "I'm afraid," she said, as she folded her napkin, "that you've found me very poor company." "I'm nothing to boast of myself," he replied. "I hope they are not as miserable as we are," she added, as they rose to leave the table. "I haven't been able to eat a thing." Scarsdale did not reply; he had a gloomy suspicion that his wife was making a very good meal somewhere. Not that he doubted her love; but he did not believe her devotion included loss of appetite. "Don't you think they are miserable?" she queried, uneasy at his silence. "Not so miserable as we are," he said. "They are both Americans, you see, and Americans don't take things seriously as a rule." "What do you suppose they are doing?" was her next question.