"Treherne, Laura Treherne," said Jack. "It is a pretty name. What took her to Hurst Leigh that night, I wonder? The night the squire died. Len, it is a romance, but I envy you. If I knew where Una lived I'd hang about the house night and day until I saw her. Len, do you know what it is to be hungry, to be parched and dried up with thirst so that you would give all you possessed--ten years of your life for a draught of water? That is just how I feel when I think of that beautiful face, with its soft brown eyes and innocent smile! And when do I not think of her?" "And you didn't speak to Lady Bell?" said Leonard. Jack made a hasty explanation and made for the door, nearly running against the housekeeper. "A letter for you, sir," she said. Jack tore it open, read it and threw it to Leonard. The envelope was a dainty gray color, and stamped with an elaborate coat of arms, with the initials I. E. in cipher underneath, and inside was a card of invitation to a ball, filled in by a lady's delicate hand, with a line in addition. "With Lady Earlsley's compliments and regret that she was from home when Mr. Newcombe called." "Jack, what condescension. You must go!" Jack stammered, and argued, and protested. He was too honest to plead that he was in mourning; but he simply swore that he would not go. The day came round and the evening fell, and Jack came into the sitting-room in evening dress, his tall form seeming to fill the room. Leonard used to say that it was a treat to see Jack in evening dress; that he was one of the few men who looked to advantage in it, and he turned from his eternal pen and ink to look at him with an approving smile. "Yes," said Jack, fiercely, "I am going; I am a fool, but how can a man stand against such a perpetual old nuisance as you are? But mind, I am just going in and out again, and after this there is an end of it. I shall enlist!" and out he went. CHAPTER XXII. Jack called a hansom--of course he could have walked, but he had no idea of economy or the value of money--and was driven to Park Lane. Half a dozen times on the way he felt inclined to stop the cab, jump out and go to the club--anywhere but Lady Bell's; but nevertheless, he found himself in Park Lane, and ascending the staircase. He saw at once, by a few unmistakable signs, that the party was a small and select one, and furthermore, judging by the tasteful magnificence of the appointments, that Lady Bell's wealth had not been very much exaggerated. He made his way slowly, for a dance was just over, and the stairs were lined, as usual, with people mostly whom he knew, and had to stop to speak to. Amongst them were Sir Arkroyd Hetley, and Dalrymple, of course together. "Hullo, here's the Savage!" cried Hetley. "How do you do, Jack? You've soon got on the war trail, old fellow," he added in a low voice and with a significant smile. Jack growled something and made his way into the room.