"Well, when you commenced to tell me of her loneliness I felt inclined to think that she was deceiving you. The alone-in-London dodge has too often been worked. But you say that she was evidently a lady--modest, timid, and apparently unused to London life. What name did she give you?" "Cloud--Aline Cloud." "Aline Cloud!"--he gasped, starting forward with a look of inexpressible fear. "Yes. Do you know her?" "No!" he answered promptly, instantly recovering himself. But his manner was unconvincing. The hand holding his cigar trembled slightly, and it was apparent that the news I had imparted had created an impression upon him the reverse of favourable. I did not continue the subject, yet as we chatted on, discussing other things, I pondered deeply. "Things in the House are droning away as usual," Roddy said, in answer to a question. "I get sick of this never-ending talk. The debates seem to grow longer and longer. I'm heartily weary of it all." And he sighed heavily. "Yet the papers report your speeches, and write leaders about them," I remarked. "That speech of yours regarding Korea the other night was splendid." "Because I know the country," he replied. "I'm the only man in the House who has set foot in the place, I suppose. Therefore, I spoke from personal observation." "But with the reputation you've gained you ought to be well satisfied," I urged. "You are among the youngest men in the House, yet you are hailed as a coming man." "That's all very well," he answered. "Nevertheless I wish I'd never gone in for it," and he yawned and stretched himself. Then, after a pause, he said reflectively-- "That was really a remarkable adventure of yours--very remarkable! Where did you say the girl lived?" "In Ellerdale Road, Hampstead. She lives with an aunt named Popejoy." "Ah!" he exclaimed, then lapsed into a sullen silence, his brow clouded by a heavy, thoughtful look, as though he were reflecting upon some strange circumstance of the past. I remained about an hour, when suddenly the division-bell rang and we parted: he entering the House to record his vote, I to stroll along to my own club to write letters. Whether Roddy was acquainted with my pretty companion I was unable to determine. It seemed very much as if he were, for I could not fail to notice his paleness and agitation when I had pronounced her name. Still I resolved to act with discretion, for I felt myself on the verge of some interesting discovery, the nature of which, however, I knew not. Next evening, in response to a telegram, Muriel Moore met me, and we dined together on the balcony of Frascati's Restaurant, in Oxford Street.