'Stuff!' said he. 'Why, Ulysses loved Penelope very well, but that did not prevent him from being very jolly with Calypso. But people are generally known by the company they frequent, and we all know who was his particular friend. What the devil can that fellow have done with himself? He is too poor for the wine trade, and must have turned digger at Ballarat, or a donkey-merchant in Texas.' Mary gave him a glance of ineffable disdain, and turned away. She felt keenly for the anguish and wounded self-esteem of her friend! and she felt deeply mortified that the chosen friend of Cecil should be playing the present double part of Fotheringhame, for the general had seen him with this lady, and he could not be mistaken. 'And Cecil, where was he?' she would whisper to herself for the thousandth time, as she drew forth a locket with some of his hair. 'It is so little to have of him, and yet so much that it reminds me of him all!' she would say, kissing it tenderly, and retying the tiny ribbon that bound it; 'my darling Cecil--my own darling!' Anon she would drop it softly into her bosom, and let it nestle there. But soon some brief and important events brought about a kind of crisis in the affair of Annabelle and Fotheringhame. After leaving the general's house one afternoon, it was found that he had dropped a note on the carpet, a note which he had apparently drawn forth with his handkerchief, and Annabelle picked it up. The envelope was addressed to him in a pretty and free feminine hand, and the top of the page began, 'My dear Leslie.' Neither of the girls read more, but instantly replaced it in the cover. Annabelle, as she grew ghastly pale, gazed with sparkling yet doubting eyes upon the note. What did it all mean? What was to be done? It bore a monogram in blue and gold, 'F.F.,' and there was a sweet yet subtle perfume about the note that, like the florid monogram, spoke surely of a female in the matter, and of a feminine taste too. 'What _shall_ we do?' asked Mary, in great perplexity. 'Enclose it, dear, in an envelope of yours, and post it to him,' said Annabelle. 'I do not wish to seem as if I knew aught of it.' Bursting with natural curiosity, poor Annabelle no doubt was; yet she was too honourable and ladylike to pry into the matter, though, sooth to say, it so very nearly concerned herself. 'Perhaps it is only a note of invitation,' suggested Mary. 'Scarcely,' replied Annabelle, with difficulty restraining her tears; 'but I shall end this, Mary, by bringing my most protracted visit to a close, and go home to mamma, who has been urging me to do so.'