“I dare say not,” he answered, with an undisguised stare of admiration. “My countenance possesses no such points of attraction as yours. Your charming features struck me forcibly when I first beheld them; I have not been able to get them out of my head since. I have had a great deal of difficulty in discovering you, but I have at last succeeded, and I have now come to improve our friendship, and make you love me if I can.” It flashed across the mind of Lotte that this was Bantom’s benevolent hero, who was anxious to present her with a fortune. Her face and neck instantly became of the hue of scarlet. “You have come here to insult me!” she cried, indignantly, “and unless you immediately depart, I will summon assistance. Leave my room, sir!” She uttered this in a loud tone of voice. The young man, with an alarmed aspect, raised both his hands deprecatingly. “Hush! hush! don’t make such a noise,” he cried; “I have not come here to insult you; I like you too much for that, upon my honour and soul I do. Now sit down, and let me talk quietly to you. I am wealthy, and----” Lotte stamped her foot passionately. “Quit this room, sir! Quit this house this instant, sir, or I’ll scream for help.” With a hurried gesture, the intruder closed the door, and said, hastily-- “I tell you I don’t want in any way to offend you; I came here, if possible, to make you think well of me, and look kindly upon me, as I do on you. Consider, I am a gentleman born, I don’t mind telling you that; I am a Grahame, I don’t mind telling you that, too.” Lotte started as she heard the name, and, with distended eyelids, looked again at his face. “What--what name?” she inquired. “Grahame,” he answered, “Grahame. We’ve a place in the Regent’s Park and one in Scotland. My name is Malcolm--Malcolm Grahame. I saw you in the garden at Mr. Wilton’s--don’t you recollect?” Lotte did, indeed. This, then, was Helen’s brother, all unconscious that a thin partition alone divided him from his missing sister. Lotte reflected for a moment. He had certainly seen his sister--had he recognised her? This she had to learn. Perhaps he had come with the purpose of endeavouring to discover and take her away. She determined he should not succeed, unless with Helen’s own consent. She felt that she had a difficult task to play, and one likely to be, in all respects, unpleasant. She was, however, equally conscious that she had undertaken, as a duty, the office of protecting and assisting Helen, with the object, if possible, of preserving her fair fame through the present terrible phase of her existence. She would not, therefore, permit the fear of personal insult or threatened dangers of other kinds to make her shrink from the responsibility she had so nobly self-imposed. “Come, now,” said Malcolm, coaxingly, on observing her muse, “you will let me sit down for a few minutes--won’t you? I do want to set myself right with you.”