She arrived at a sudden resolution. It was too late for church, or she told herself it was, supposing her to have been in a church-going mood, which she most emphatically was not. Instead of church she would go to Mr Holland's rooms in Craven Street, and inquire for him there. Under the circumstances, anything, including loss of dignity--and she flattered herself that dignity, as a rule, was her strong point--was better than suspense. She had some difficulty in finding a cab. In that district of town, cabs do not ply in numbers on Sunday morning. By the time she discovered one she was hot, dusty and, she feared, dishevelled. As the vehicle bore her towards the Strand, her sense of comfort did not increase. If he was not in Craven Street, what should she do? Ye saints and sinners! if he were in gaol! He was not in Craven Street. A matronly, pleasant-faced woman opened the door to her. 'Is Mr Holland in?' 'No, miss, he's not.' 'Has he been long gone out?' 'Well, miss, he hasn't been in all night.' The young lady shivered. The landlady eyed her with shrewd, yet not unfriendly, eyes. She hazarded a question,-- 'Excuse me, miss, but are you Miss Broad?' 'That is my name.' 'Would you mind just stepping inside?' The landlady led the way into a front room. The first thing the young lady saw on entering was her photograph staring at her from the centre of the mantelshelf. A little extra colour tinged her cheeks. The landlady glanced from the original to the likeness, and back again. 'It's very like you, miss, if you'll excuse my saying so. You see, Mr Holland has told me all about it. You have my congratulations, if I might make so bold, for a nicer gentleman I never want to see. I was that pleased when I saw him come walking in the other day. Did you expect to see him, miss?' 'I had an appointment with him. He never kept it. As he has never done such a thing before, I scarcely knew what to think.' 'Well, miss, the truth is, I hardly know what I ought to say.' 'Say everything, please.' 'It was only his nonsense, no doubt, but when he was going out last night I asked him if he should be late. "Well, Mrs Pettifer," he said, "if I am late, you'd better make inquiries for me at Westminster Police Station, for that's where I shall be; they'll have locked me up." When Matilda told me this morning that he hadn't been in all night, I thought of his words directly, because he'd ordered his breakfast for eight o'clock this morning, and, as you say, he's always so dependable--Why, miss, whatever is the matter?' Miss Broad, who had found refuge in an armchair, was looking very queer indeed. 'Don't you take on, miss. It was only his fun. Mr Holland's full of his jokes. Heaps of gentlemen stay out all night; nothing's happened.'