‘Mr. Geoffrey left this for you, ma’am,’ said the domestic, ‘when he went away.’ ‘Went away! My cousin, Mr. Hossack, gone!’ cried Belle, aghast, while Jessie rushed to her sister’s side, and strove to possess herself of the letter. ‘Yes, ma’am. Mr. Geoffrey left by the first train; Dawson drove him over in the dog-cart. The letter would explain, Mr. Geoffrey said.’ ‘Belle, read the letter, for goodness’ sake!’ cried Jessie impatiently; ‘and don’t sit staring like a figure in a hairdresser’s window.’ The butler lingered to give a finishing touch to the well-furnished sideboard, and to hear the contents of Geoffrey’s letter. It was brief, and, in the opinion of the sisters, unsatisfactory—the style spasmodic, as of one accustomed to communicate his ideas by electric telegraph, rather than in the more ornate form of a letter. ‘Dearest Belle,—Most unfortunate. Have received telegram summoning me to town. Most particular business. Must go. Regret much. Thought I was in for no end of fun down here. Hope to return shortly. Make my excuses to my uncle, and be lenient yourself towards your affectionate cousin ‘GEOFF.’ ‘Was there ever anything so annoying?’ cried Belle, ‘and after Lady Baker’s politeness to him yesterday! Particular business! What can he have to do with business?’ ‘I daresay it’s horse-racing or something dreadful,’ said Jessie. ‘I saw a great change in him. He has such a wild look sometimes, and hardly ever seems to know what one says to him.’ ‘Jessie,’ exclaimed Belle with solemnity, ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if Geoffrey were going to be married.’ ‘O, Belle,’ cried Jessie with a gasp, ‘you don’t think he’d be mean enough for that—to go and get engaged, and never say a word to us.’ ‘I don’t know,’ answered her sister gloomily. ‘Men are capable of any amount of meanness in that way.’ * * * * * Geoffrey Hossack went up to London as fast as the South-Western Railway would take him thither, and straightway upon his arrival transferred himself to a hansom, bidding the driver convey him at full speed to the Shadrack-road. He reached that melancholy district before noon, and found the shabby-genteel villa, with its fast-decaying stucco front, its rusty iron railings, in which his friend Lucius Davoren had begun his professional career. But, early as it was, Lucius had gone forth more than two hours. ‘I must see him,’ said Geoffrey to the feeble little charwoman, whose spirits were fluttered by the appearance of this rampant stranger, his fiery impatience visible in his aspect. ‘Have you any idea where I can find him?’