He waited there until a quarter past seven, and then, adjusting his tie for about the tenth time that evening in the glass behind the bar, sallied out in the direction of No. 5. He knocked lightly, and waited. There was no response, and he knocked again. When the fourth knock brought no response, his heart sank within him and he indulged in vain speculations as to the reasons for this unexpected hitch in the programme. He knocked again, and then the door opened suddenly and Prudence, with a little cry of surprise and dismay, backed into the passage. “You!” she said, regarding him with large eyes. Mr. Catesby bowed tenderly, and passing in closed the door behind him. “I wanted to thank you for your kindness last night,” he said, humbly. “Very well,” said Prudence; “good-bye.” Mr. Catesby smiled. “It’ll take me a long time to thank you as I ought to thank you,” he murmured. “And then I want to apologise; that’ll take time, too.” “You had better go,” said Prudence, severely; “kindness is thrown away upon you. I ought to have let you be punished.” “You are too good and kind,” said the other, drifting by easy stages into the parlour. Miss Truefitt made no reply, but following him into the room seated herself in an easy-chair and sat coldly watchful. “How do you know what I am?” she inquired. “Your face tells me,” said the infatuated Richard. “I hope you will forgive me for my rudeness last night. It was all done on the spur of the moment.” “I am glad you are sorry,” said the girl, softening. “All the same, if I hadn’t done it,” pursued Mr. Catesby, “I shouldn’t be sitting here talking to you now.” Miss Truefitt raised her eyes to his, and then lowered them modestly to the ground. “That is true,” she said, quietly. “And I would sooner be sitting here than anywhere,” pursued Catesby. “That is,” he added, rising, and taking a chair by her side, “except here.” Miss Truefitt appeared to tremble, and made as though to rise. Then she sat still and took a gentle peep at Mr. Catesby from the corner of her eye. “I hope that you are not sorry that I am here?” said that gentleman. Miss Truefitt hesitated. “No,” she said, at last. “Are you—are you glad?” asked the modest Richard. Miss Truefitt averted her eyes altogether. “Yes,” she said, faintly. A strange feeling of solemnity came over the triumphant Richard. He took the hand nearest to him and pressed it gently. “I—I can hardly believe in my good luck,” he murmured. “Good luck?” said Prudence, innocently. “Isn’t it good luck to hear you say that you are glad I’m here?” said Catesby. “You’re the best judge of that,” said the girl, withdrawing her hand. “It doesn’t seem to me much to be pleased about.” Mr. Catesby eyed her in perplexity, and was about to address another tender remark to her when she was overcome by a slight fit of coughing. At the same moment he started at the sound of a shuffling footstep in the passage. Somebody tapped at the door. “Yes?” said Prudence.