Leonard sat over the fire feeling strangely nervous: he had thought of doing a little work: no time like the quiet night for good work. Yet somehow he could not command his brain: it was a rebellious brain: instead of tackling the social question before him, it went off wandering in the direction of Constance and of her refusal and of her words--her uncomfortable, ill-boding words. Unexpectedly, and without any premonitory sound of steps on the stair, there came a ring at his bell. Now, Leonard was not a nervous man, or a superstitious man, or one who looked at the present or the future with apprehension. But this evening he felt a chill shudder: he knew that something disagreeable was going to happen. He looked at the clock: his man must have gone to bed: he got up and went out to open the door himself. There stood before him a stranger, a man of tall stature, wrapped in a kind of Inverness cape, with a round felt hat. “Mr. Leonard Campaigne?” he asked. “Certainly,” he replied snappishly. “Who are you? What do you want here at this time of night?” “I am sorry to be so late. I lost my way. May I have half an hour’s talk with you? I am a cousin of yours, though you do not know me.” “A cousin of mine? What cousin? What is your name?” “Here is my card. If you will let me come in, I will tell you all about the relationship. A cousin I am, most certainly.” Leonard looked at the card. “Mr. Samuel Galley-Campaigne.” In the corner were the words, “Solicitor, Commercial Road.” “I know nothing about you,” said Leonard. “Perhaps, however--will you come in?” He led the way into the study, and turned on one or two more lights. Then he looked at his visitor. The man followed him into the study, threw off his cape and hat, and stood before him--a tall, thin figure, with a face which instantly reminded the spectator of a vulture; the nose was long, thin, and curved; his eyes were bright, set too close together. He was dressed in a frock-coat which had known better days, and wore a black tie. He looked hungry, but not with physical pangs. “Mr. Samuel Galley-Campaigne,” he repeated. “My father’s name was Galley; my grandmother’s maiden name was Campaigne.” “Oh, your grandmother’s name was Campaigne. Your own name, then, is Galley?” “I added the old woman’s name to my own; it looks better for business purposes. Also I took her family crest--she’s got a coat of arms--it looks well for business purposes.” “You can’t take your grandmother’s family shield.” “Can’t I? Who’s to prevent me? It’s unusual down our way, and it’s good for business.” “Well, as you please--name and coat of arms and everything. Will you explain the cousinship?” “In two words. That old man over there”--he indicated something in the direction of the north--“the old man who lives by himself, is my grandmother’s father. He’s ninety something, and she’s seventy something.” “Oh! she is my great-aunt, then. Strange that I never heard of her.”