He followed him round without result, and in the fulness of time saw him leave the golf-house and walk dejectedly home. After watching him enter The Happy Heart, Lionel made his way peacefully to The Quiet House, hoping Miss Arkwright would have returned. In this he was not disappointed, for the silent footman bowed in answer to his question and held the door invitingly open. Lionel accepted the unspoken welcome, entered and was shown into the drawing-room. The footman placed a chair and motioned that he should sit down. Lionel obeyed with a vague feeling that something was amiss. Was it the silence of the footman that gave him an uncanny impression, or was it the atmosphere of the house? He had heard of presentiments of ill under similar circumstances and had disbelieved them all, but now it was different ... he was uneasy. After sitting uncomfortably in his chair, half expecting it to play some goblin trick upon him, he got up and began to look at a picture hanging above the mantelpiece. He was still busy with his scrutiny when he heard the door open and close again behind him. Turning at the sound, he saw a lady standing perfectly still in the middle of the room. Lionel gasped, and almost fell. "_You!_" he quavered, sure now that wizardry was at work. "_You!_" "Please sit down," said a grave voice. "I am Miss Arkwright." Lionel pulled himself together with an effort, but he did not sit down. "No," he objected steadily. "I am sorry to contradict you, but that is not true. You are playing a trick on me for some reason that I can not understand. But I swear that you are not Miss Arkwright." The lady smiled, as one who soothes a maniac. "Indeed?" she said courteously. "Then perhaps you will tell me who I am?" "You are Miss Beatrice Blair," said Lionel in a hard voice. He was bitterly disappointed, and no wonder. "Beatrice Blair?" repeated the other, with an astonishment that could not but be genuine. "Whom do you mean? Who is Beatrice Blair?" "She was playing last night at the Macready Theater," returned Lionel with a patient dignity. "How she contrives to be at Shereling at this hour, mystifying a poor wretch whose only fault is a too ardent devotion, I can not explain." This he thought rather a fine speech, and he was relieved to see the clearing of her brow. But he was mistaken as to the cause. "The Macready Theater!" cried the lady in a tone of satisfaction. "Ah! I can guess now. You must mean my sister, of course. There can be no other explanation. I know she is"--she shuddered daintily--"an actress, but I had quite forgotten her nom de guerre." "Her ... sister ..." repeated Lionel dully. "Why, yes ... I thought I was calling on her sister ... I wished to see her--not Miss Blair again...." He sat down, unable to realize it yet. "Did you not know we were twins?" she asked, clearly anxious to help him. "I had heard ... but I did not expect...."