Mr. Robert Streightley went in search of fresh air through Holborn and Oxford Street to the West-end. He so rarely quitted the City, he was so seldom out any where in the daylight, that the bright sun and the splendid shops, the pleasure-seeking crowds idling through the streets, the handsome carriages, and the general life and bustle amazed, and under any other circumstances would have amused him. Even now he felt that he was wasting his life, letting his days pass by without any adequate enjoyment, and he determined that to a certain extent he would remedy that for the future by curtailing the hours devoted to his business, which had hitherto had his every energy. At the Regent Circus he paused and asked his way to Queen Anne Street; for he had determined to see the house where dwelt his lovely visitor of the morning. How lovely she was, and how confused and ridiculous she must have thought him; how different in manner to those with whom she was in the habit of associating; and how delightfully ignorant she was of all business-matters! He wondered whether he should see her the next day when he called on her father. He would like to see her again, he thought; and what would he not give to be able to talk to her, and to get her to talk to him unreservedly, as no doubt she did to--to those of her own class! Yes, there was some good in his money and his business, after all. They had brought him in contact with this lovely girl; and in his transactions with her father he might perhaps be able to get to know her on other terms than those of mere business acquaintance. That was the house, No. 110, with traces of her presence in the lovely flowers in the balcony, and in the splendid Indian work-box standing on the gilt table in the drawing-room window. A handsome house, looking like the expenditure of two thousand a-year at least, Streightley thought to himself; the expenditure, mind, not the income,--his business education had taught him to look at those matters in their right light; and he remembered what Fowler had said about Mr. Guyon, and knew that the old clerk never spoke at random. A carriage was at the door of No. 110; and a footman standing by it said to his mistress as Streightley passed, "Not at home, my lady. Ridin' with Miss Wentworths and the Major in the Park." Not at home! that of course meant the lady of the house. But was there a Mrs. Guyon, or did the young lady whom he had seen do the honours of her father's house? He should imagine so; for she had come alone, and mentioned nothing of her mother. Riding in the Park, eh? Then he might have a chance of seeing her again! The Park was free to all, any one might go there, and--and the Major! who was the Major? Robert Streightley's spirits fell to zero again, as he remembered Miss Guyon's manner to him that morning, and reflected how wide was the gulf between them.