"Charlie," she began impetuously, "I have been thinking over shipboard and Father Shamrock, and all. You didn't think then--did you?--that I cared so very much for you? I am so glad that the Father bewitched me as he did, for I can remember no foolishness on my part to you, sir--none at all. Can you?" Stammering, confused, I seemed to have lost my tongue and my head together. I had expected tears, pale cheeks, a burst of self-reproach, and that I should have to comfort and be very gentle and sympathetic. I had dreaded the _role_; but here was a new turn of affairs; and, I own it, my self-love was not a little wounded. The play was played out, that was evident. The curtain had fallen, and here was I, a late-arrived hero of romance, the chivalric elder brother, with all my little stock of property-phrases--friendship of a life, esteem, etc.--of no more account than a week-old playbill. For, I must confess it, I had rehearsed some little forgiveness scene, in which I should magnanimously kiss her hand, and tell her that I should honor her above all women for her courage and her truth; and in which she would cry until her poor little heart was soothed and calmed; and that I should have the sweet consciousness of being beloved, however hopelessly, by such a brilliant, ardent soul. But Mistress Fanny had quietly turned the tables on me, and I believe I was angry enough for the moment to wish it had not been so. But only for a moment. It began to dawn upon me soon, the rare tact which had made easy the most embarrassing situation in the world--the _bravura_ style, if I may call it so, that had carried us over such a difficult bar. It _was_ delicacy, this careless reminder of the fascinating Father, and perhaps there was a modicum of truth in that acknowledgment too. I took my leave of Fanny Meyrick, and walked home a wiser man. But the trusty messenger, who arrived three days later, was not, as I had hoped, young Bunker or young Anybody. It was simply Mrs. D----, with a large traveling party. They came straight to London, and summoned me at once to the Langham Hotel. I suppose I looked somewhat amazed at sight of the portly lady, whom I had last seen driving round Central Park. But the twin Skye terriers who tumbled in after her assured me of her identity soon enough. "Mr. D---- charged me, Mr. Munro," she began after our first ceremonious greeting, "to give this into no hands but yours. I have kept it securely with my diamonds, and those I always carry about me." From what well-stitched diamond receptacle she had extracted the paper I did not suffer myself to conjecture, but the document was strongly perfumed with violet powder.