Lord Charles stretched his legs and shook his head. "Look here, Ley, isn't this rather too 'thin?'" he remonstrated. "Of course it's to someone of the gentler sex!" Leycester smiled. "You are wrong," he said, with a smile. "Where's the Bradshaw, Oliver!" and he opened the door. "Put out the note-paper, and then tell them to get a dogcart to take me to the station." "You will want me, my lord?" "No, I am going alone. Look sharp!" Oliver put out the writing materials and departed, and Leycester sat down and stared for a moment at the crested paper. "Shall I go?" asked Lord Charles, ironically. "No, I don't mean to lose sight of you, old fellow," replied Leycester. "Sit where you are." "Can I help you? I am rather good at amorous epistles, especially other people's." "Be quiet." Then he seized the pen and wrote:-- "MY DEAR FRANK--I have inclosed a note for Stella. Will you give it to her when she is alone, and with your own hand! She will tell you that I have asked her to come with you by the eleven o'clock train to-morrow. Will you bring her to 24 Bruton Street? I shall meet you there instead of meeting you at the station. You see I put it quite simply, and am quite confident that you will help us. You know our secret, and will stand by us, will you not? Of course you will come without any luggage, and without letting anyone divine your intentions." "Yours, my dear Frank, "LEYCESTER." This was all very well. It was easy enough to write to the boy, because he, Leycester, knew that if he had asked Frank to walk through fire, Frank would do it! But Stella? A sharp pang of doubt assailed him as he took up the second sheet of paper. Suppose she should not come! He got up and strode to and fro the room, his brows knit, the old look of determination on his face. "Drop it, Ley," said Lord Charles, quietly. Leycester stopped, and smiled down at him. "You don't know what that would mean, Charlie," he said. "Perhaps I do to--her, whomsoever it should be." Then Leycester laughed outright. "You are on the wrong track this time, altogether," he said, "quite wrong." And he sat down and plunged into his letter. Like the first, it was very short.