‘Mrs. Eustace Damerel presents her compliments to Mr. Tarrant, and would take it as a great favour if he could call upon her, either to-morrow or Tuesday, at any hour between three and seven. She particularly desires to see Mr. Tarrant on a private matter of mutual interest.’ Now this could have but one meaning. Mrs. Eustace Damerel was, of course, Nancy’s relative; from Nancy herself, or in some other way, she must have learnt the fact of his marriage. Probably from Nancy, since she knew where he lived. He was summoned to a judicial interview. Happily, attendance was not compulsory. Second thoughts advised him that he had better accept the invitation. He must know what measures were in progress against him. If Nancy had already broken her word, she might be disposed to revenge herself in every way that would occur to an angry woman of small refinement; she might make life in London impossible for him. He sat down and penned a reply, saying that he would call upon Mrs. Damerel at five to-morrow. But he did not post this. After all, a day’s delay would only irritate him; better to go this afternoon, in which case it was not worth while sending an answer. It seemed to him very probable that Nancy would be with her aunt, to confront him. If so,--if indeed she were going to act like any coarse woman, with no regard but for her own passions and Interests,--he would at least have the consolation of expelling from his mind, at once and for ever, her haunting image. Mrs. Damerel, who during the past twelve months had changed her abode half-a-dozen times, now occupied private lodgings in Tyburnia. On his admittance, Tarrant sat alone for nearly five minutes in a pretentiously furnished room--just the room in which he had expected to find Nancy’s relative; the delay and the surroundings exasperated his nervous mood, so that, when the lady entered, he behaved with slighter courtesy than became his breeding. Nothing in her appearance surprised or interested him. There was a distant facial resemblance to Nancy, natural in her mother’s sister; there was expensive, though not particularly tasteful dress, and a gait, a manner, distinguishable readily enough from what they aimed at displaying--the grace of a woman born to social privilege. It would be a humiliating conversation; Tarrant braced himself to go through with it. He stood stiffly while his hostess regarded him with shrewd eyes. She had merely bent her head. ‘Will you sit down, Mr. Tarrant?’ He took a chair without speaking. ‘I think you know me by name?’ ‘I have heard of a Mrs. Damerel.’ ‘Some time ago, I suppose? And in that you have the advantage of me. I heard your name yesterday for the first time.’ It was the sharp rejoinder of a woman of the world. Tarrant began to perceive that he had to do with intelligence, and would not be allowed to perform his share of the talking _de haut en bas._ ‘In what can I be of service to you?’ he asked with constrained civility.