He waited at first patiently enough--there was much to interest and amuse him; but at last, as nigh an hour had elapsed, and she had not appeared, a feeling, half of irritation at the thought of neglect, and half doubt lest he should have mistaken what the servant said, began to worry and distress him. A little pendule on a bracket played a few bars of a waltz, and struck three. Should he wait any longer? was the question he put to himself. His sense of shame on leaving home at the thought of presenting himself before a patron came back upon him now with redoubled force. He had often felt that the ministers who preached for a call were submitting themselves to a very unworthy ordeal. The being judged by those they were appointed to teach seemed in itself little short of an outrage; but the part he was now playing was infinitely worse; he had actually come to show himself, to see if, when looked at and talked to, her Ladyship would condescend to be his patron, and as it were to impress the indignity more strongly upon him he was kept waiting like a lackey! “I don't think I ought to stoop to this,” muttered he, bitterly, to himself; and taking a card and a pencil from his pocket, he wrote: “The Rev. George L'Estrange has waited from two to three o'clock in the hope of seeing Lady Augusta Bramleigh; he regrets the disappointment, as well as his inability to prolong his attendance.” “There,” cried he, aloud, “I hope that will do!” and he placed the card conspicuously on the table. “Do what, pray?” said a very soft voice, as a slight figure in deep mourning swept noiselessly into the kiosk, and taking the card up sat down without reading it. One glance showed that the handsome woman before him was Lady Augusta, and the bashful curate blushed deeply at the awkwardness of his position. “Mr. L'Estrange, I presume?” said she, waving her hand to him to be seated. “And what is your card to do; not represent you, I hope, for I 'd rather see you in person?” “In my despair of seeing your Ladyship I wrote a line to say--to say”--and he blundered and stopped short. “To say you 'd wait no longer,” said she, smiling; “but how touchy you must be. Don't you know that women have the privilege of unpunctuality? don't you know it is one of the few prerogatives you men have spared them? Have you breakfasted?” “Yes--some hours ago.” “I forget whether I have not also. I rather think I did take some coffee. I have been very impatient for your coming. Sit here, please,” said she, pointing to an armchair beside her own sofa. “I have been very impatient indeed to see you. I want to hear all about these poor Bramleighs; you lived beside them, did n't you, and knew them all intimately? What is this terrible story of their ruin? this claim to their property? What does it mean? is there really anything in it?” “It is somewhat of a long story,” began L'Estrange. “Then don't tell it, I entreat you. Are you married, Mr. L'Estrange?”