He waited two days, and called again. "Not at home." Another two days, and another call. The same answer. "Not at home." Charley Melton turned away with his brow knit, and then thought over the past, and determined that, come what might, he would not be beaten. The next day he went again, with his dog trotting closely at his heels. He knocked; the door was opened by Robbins the butler, and to the usual inquiry, that individual responded as before-- "Not at home, sir." As Melton left his card and turned to go away, Joby quietly walked in, crossed the hall, and went upstairs, while his master, who was biting his lips, turned sharply back and slipped half a sovereign into the butler's hand. "Look here, Robbins," he said; "you may trust me; what does this mean?" The butler glanced behind him, and let the door swing nearly to as he stood upon the step. "Fact is, sir, her ladyship said they was never to be at home to you." A curious smile crossed Melton's lip as he nodded shortly and turned away, going straight back to his chambers in Duke Street, Saint James's, and walking impatiently up and down till he was fain to cease from utter exhaustion, when he flung himself impatiently in his chair, and sat trying to make plans for the future. Meanwhile Joby, feeling himself quite at home in the Portland Place mansion, had walked straight into the dining-room, where the luncheon was not yet cleared away. The dog settled himself under the table, till, hearing a halting step, he had come slowly out to stand watching Lord Barmouth, who toddled in hastily, and helped himself to three or four slices of cold ham, which he was in the act of placing in his pocket as the dog touched him on the leg. "Eh! I'm very sorry, Robbins--I--eh? Oh dear, how you frightened me, my good dog," he said; "I thought it was the butler." He was hurrying out when, thinking that perhaps the visitor might also like a little extra refreshment, he hastily took up a couple of cutlets and threw them one by one to the dog, who caught them, and seemed to swallow them with one and the same movement, pill-fashion, for they disappeared, and Joby waited for more. "I dare not take any more, my good dog," said his lordship, stooping down and patting him; and then, feeling that there was nothing more to be done here, Joby quietly trotted upstairs into the drawing-room, where Maude was seated alone, with her head resting upon her hand, and the tears silently stealing down her cheeks.