He had closely watched Paul Desfrayne until that young man’s departure, and the feeling of deep mistrust against him had painfully intensified. It was with a profound sense of relief, however, that he found neither Captain Desfrayne nor Lois apparently disposed to cultivate any approach to acquaintanceship. For some time before the hour fixed for supper, he had hovered about Lois, with the hope of being able to offer her his arm down-stairs. The sharp eyes of Lady Quaintree were on the alert, unfortunately for the success of his plans, and to his anger and mortification he saw Lois assigned to a stranger. As he flung himself wearily into a hansom, and lighted his cigar for consolation during his journey homeward, Frank Amberley had ample subject-matter for meditation. Although not so bitter or remorseful, his thoughts were scarcely more agreeable than those of Paul Desfrayne. CHAPTER VIII. THE NEW VALET. Captain Desfrayne walked with hasty, irregular steps in the direction of his own home. The servant who admitted him said that a person was waiting up-stairs, being earnestly desirous of an interview. “I should not have let him wait, sir,” the man added apologetically, “only he said he had an appointment with you for to-day, and seemed so dreadfully disappointed because he didn’t see you.” Captain Desfrayne had altogether forgotten that he had desired the Italian valet to call upon him. His conscience reproached him for what he considered selfishness, in being so engrossed; and he hurried up to his own apartments. The doors of the inner rooms were locked; but there was a pleasant little antechamber, almost luxuriously furnished as a smoking-room. This was now fully lighted from a handsome chandelier; and standing at the table in the center of the apartment was the tall, gaunt Italian who had claimed Captain Desfrayne’s sympathy the evening before. The evening before! It seemed to Paul Desfrayne as if it must have been months since he had gone through that short, half-smiling interview with his mother. The table was scattered over with newspapers, magazines, French novels, and other aids to kill time agreeably and intellectually at the same time. As Captain Desfrayne entered, the Italian servant was looking at one of the papers intently--so much absorbed that his left hand unconsciously crushed it. It was that day’s issue of an illustrated paper. The entire page upon which the eyes of the man seemed fixed was occupied by an oval-shaped portrait of a lady--of whom, Captain Desfrayne could not discern. The fellow clenched his right hand, and shook it at the mute representation of the beautiful woman, and muttered some words in Italian, in so low a key that their import did not reach Captain Desfrayne.