Produced by Jonathan Ingram and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net [Illustration: "WILL HE COME?" _From the Painting by Marcus Stone, R.A._ _By Permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., London, W._] * * * * * The HARMSWORTH MONTHLY PICTORIAL MAGAZINE. VOLUME 1, 1898-9. No 2. * * * * * My travelling companion A COMPLETE STORY BY CATHERINE CHILDAR. _Illustrated by Fred. Pegram._ It was a miserable day in November--the sort of day when, according to the French, splenetic Englishmen flock in such crowds to the Thames, in order to drown themselves, that there is not standing room on the bridges. I was sitting over the fire in our dingy dining-room; for personally I find that element more cheering than water under depressing circumstances. My eldest sister burst upon me with a letter in her hand: "Here, Tommy, is an invitation for you," she cried. My name is Charlotte; but I am generally called Tommy by my unappreciative family, who mendaciously declare it is derived from the expression "tom-boy." "Oh, bother invitations," was my polite answer. "I don't want to go anywhere. Why, it's a letter from Mysie Sutherland! How came you to open it?" "If she will address it to Miss Cornwall, of course I shall open it. I've read it, too--it's very nice for you." "Awfully jolly," put in Dick, who had followed my sister Lucy into the room. "Oh, I don't want to go a bit." "Well, then, you'll just have to. It's disgraceful of you, Tom; why, you may never get such a chance again. You'll meet lots of people in a big country house like that, and perhaps--who knows?--marry a rich Scotchman." "I declare, Lucy, you are quite disgusting with your perpetual talk about marrying! Why, I shan't have the time to get fond of anyone!" "You're asked for a month; and if that isn't time enough, I don't know what is." "Time enough to be married and divorced again," cried Dick. "But I shan't come to that; and besides, I have no clothes fit to be seen." "Oh, never mind; I'll lend you my white silk for evenings." And my sister, who was always good-natured, carried me off to ransack her wardrobe. There was no help for it; remonstrances were useless; I had to go. The invitation was from a schoolfellow of mine, Mysie Sutherland by name. She lived near Inverness, and asked me to go and stay a month with her. The idea filled me with apprehension. She was the only daughter, and lived in style in a large house: I was one of a numerous family herded together in a small house in Harley Street. Her father was a wealthy landed proprietor: mine was a struggling doctor. Altogether I was shy and nervous, and would much have preferred to remain at home; but Lucy and Dick had decided I should go, and I knew there was no appeal.