The young woman in question did not at all resent my frankness on the subject, but assured me that her greatest consolation in thinking of her late father was the fact that she was about to make a marriage which he had always wished, and of which he had emphatically given his approval on his death-bed. "I told him I had decided upon it, just before he died, and he was so relieved and happy about it," she said simply as she turned to leave the room. Having mentioned that a younger sister was also in town, I sent a message to the latter, asking her to take early dinner with me on the following Sunday, which happened to be my only spare day just then. On the evening of this visit from the coming bride, I had accepted an invitation to a large musical party in the house of the lady who had begged me to interest myself in Mrs Peters. It was within a stone's-throw of Sussex Gardens, and I came down to dinner at seven-thirty P.M., intending to dress later, and go round there about nine P.M. For an hour or so before dinner I had been conscious of a growing despondency, to which I could attribute no cause, and this increased so much during the meal that Mrs Peters noticed it at last, and asked me if I were feeling unwell. "No--not unwell--but I am absolutely miserable, and cannot imagine why." "Then you have not had bad news?" was the next remark. "I feared you must have had, seeing you so silent and not able to eat anything." In answer to this I said that I had not even the excuse of hearing of other people's misfortunes, for a young lady had been calling upon me that afternoon, who was about to make what the world calls a very successful marriage. I did not, however, mention her name, as Mrs Peters knew none of my friends. Dinner over, I felt still so unaccountably wretched that I determined to give up the evening party, and write my excuses. Mrs Peters did her best to combat this decision, fearing that her kind benefactress might be disappointed, and also urging that the evening's enjoyment would cheer me up. But finding me inexorable, she then said: "Well, if you have quite determined not to go, shall I come into your sitting-room and see if we can get any explanation of your curious feeling of depression?" I closed with this suggestion, knowing Mrs Peters to be a really remarkable sensitive. So we sat in the dark for a few minutes; and then I heard a soft _frou-frou_ on Mrs Peters' silk gown, and knew she was tracing out words with her hand in a fashion of her own. "It is a spirit that young lady brought with her," she announced at length. "The spirit has remained here with _you_, and is worried about this marriage you spoke of. She wants you to try and break it off. She seems to have been nearly related to the lady, or perhaps a godmother; anyway, she takes great interest in her." "Will she give a name?" I asked. "ELIZA is all I get," Mrs Peters replied.