“I’ll not believe that he has played me false. Mason’s a gentleman and a man of honor. It’s I who am to blame for doubting him. Only take this note to him; insist on seeing him, and explain and smooth away my folly in being so fearful. Remind him that I am old, and have been terribly tried and played upon by designing men. He will listen to you, Florry, my darling, and my mind will be at ease. Only go, dear, quickly!” It was impossible to refuse this pitiful appeal, and, though much against her will, Florence went. She did not take a cab, for the simple reason that she had not sufficient silver in her purse to pay for it, but walked as briskly as she could, devising as she went the best way of addressing the lieutenant so as to draw from him the truth. The manservant who answered her inquiry for his master bore out Mr. Heriton’s description of him, for his countenance was a villainous one. But he was extremely respectful, begging the young lady to take a chair in an antechamber while he went to see whether Lieutenant Mason was in. Florence, who declined his civility and remained standing, had heard voices in an inner room. These were hushed when the man entered, and then some one audibly asked: “Good-looking, did you say?” “One of the prettiest creatures I’ve seen for a long time, sir,” she heard the man answer. Instinctively she drew her veil over the face that was crimsoning with resentment, and stepped nearer the door. But the man was already returning to ask her name. She gave it with reluctance, and while awaiting the issue the door behind her opened, and a gentleman, whose bronzed face was half concealed by an Oriental-looking beard, entered the room, glanced at its veiled occupant, bowed, and retreated to the window. The lieutenant’s servant came back with his fawning civility fast changing into insolence. “My master really cannot see you to-night, miss. He is particularly engaged. You can leave a message if you like.” In the presence of a stranger Florence felt herself compelled to curb her indignation at this rude treatment. “Take this note to Lieutenant Mason,” she said haughtily, “and tell him that I am waiting for a reply to it. I must again request an interview with him.” The man began to mutter something, but she checked him with an imperious “Deliver my message, sir!” And, a scowl settling down on his face, he obeyed. The stranger had turned round at the sound of her voice, and was eying her so keenly that she was glad to bend over the leaves of a pamphlet lying on the table before her to avoid his scrutiny. In a very short space of time the man came back, saucier than ever. “My master really cannot see you to-night, Miss Heriton, so it’s no use your staying. I’m to tell you that he’ll write or come to you in the morning.” Too angry to trust her voice to reply, Florence instantly quitted the room. As she passed through the door she heard the strange gentleman eagerly demand: