Madeline hesitated for a moment, and then, turning to the youth in her most stately manner, said--“Say Miss West,” and having thus left her name, with all due dignity she passed through the door with a slight inclination of her head and walked downstairs. She met a good many cheery-looking young barristers, in wigs and flyaway gowns, as she passed through the precincts of the inns, and wondered if she would come across Laurence, and if she would recognize him in that funny dress. For, of course, he wore a wig and gown too; but he had always kept them in his chambers, and she had never seen them. But she did not meet Laurence--so she took a hansom, did a little shopping in Bond Street, and then got home just in nice time for afternoon tea. As she sat sipping it in her luxurious tea-jacket, and with her feet on the fender-stool, Mr. Wynne returned home, tired, hoarse, and cold. His fire was out. And, moreover, there was no sign of his modest evening meal. “Confound that old hag downstairs!” he muttered. “Please, sir,” said one of the clerks who had been busy locking up, and who now followed him into his sanctum, “there was a party to see you while you were out--a party as waited for a good bit of an hour.” “Well, well, couldn’t you have dealt with him?” impatiently. “What did he want?” “It was a lady,” impressively. “A lady!” he echoed. “Oh yes, I know, old Mrs. Redhead--about that appeal----” “No, it was not; it was a young lady.” “Oh, a young lady?” he repeated. “Yes, and she bid me be sure to tell you,” embroidering a little to give colour to his story, “as she was very sorry not to see you, and to say that Miss West had called.” “Miss West? Are you sure she said West?” “Yes, sir. I’ll take an oath to it, if you like.” “All right, then. Yes, yes, it’s all right. You can go,” dismissing him with a wave of his arm, and, suddenly pitching his wig in one direction and his gown in another, he sat down to digest the news. So Madeline had come to beard him in his den. What did it all mean? and did she intend to return? For fully an hour he sat in the dusk--nay, the darkness--pondering this question, forgetful of fire, light, and food. He would have liked to have cross-examined his clerk as to where she sat, and what she said; but no, he could not stoop to that; and then his mind reverted again to that crucial and as yet unanswered question--“Did she intend to come back?” CHAPTER XXIII. A BOLD STEP.