Once there--once, as it were, settled against his own familiar background, leaning back in his leather armchair, his man dismissed, his visitor seated opposite him in the pretty, comfortable chair always drawn forward when the old man was honoured by the visit of a fair friend--Mr. Gumberg felt rewarded for the late stripping of himself of personal dignity, for he perceived, by certain infallible signs, that now she would tell him all that was in her mind. With scarce any preamble, Lady Wantley plunged into the middle of her story. In disconnected, but clearly worded, phrases, she told of her more than suspicion, of her certainty, of the coming peril. But, whereas she spoke of Downing by name, describing his action with a Biblical plainness of language which startled her old friend, she concealed the name of the woman in the case, beseeching Mr. Gumberg's intervention and advice on behalf 'of one known to you, but whose name I beg you not to inquire or try to discover.' It was with eager, painful interest and growing excitement that the old man, his hand held shell-like to his ear, heard in silence the story she had come to tell. She had not spoken many words, and had used but little of the innocent craft to which she was so unaccustomed, before Mr. Julius Gumberg knew only too well the name of the woman for whom Lady Wantley was entreating his advice and help. At last, when she had said all there was to say, she looked at her old friend dumbly, appealingly; and it was rather in answer to that look than to any word uttered by her that he said: 'Were you anyone else, I would respect your wish to conceal this lady's name. Nay, more: were she other than who she is, you should leave me to-day believing that you had been successful in hiding from me the name of your friend. But, Lady Wantley, I care for you.' He paused, then feelingly added: 'I have cared for you all, too well, during nearly the whole of my life, to tolerate this fiction. What you have come to tell me is indeed news, and painful news, to me, but Sir George Downing himself told me, during the few days he was here, that he was acquainted with Penelope, and that he had met her abroad this spring.' And having thus cleared the decks for action, he remained silent for a few moments, his domed head sunk on his breast, thinking deeply. George Downing and Penelope Wantley? Amazing, incredible, and most sinister conjunction! Why, the affair must have been going on--nay, the coming catastrophe, this mad scheme of going away together to form a permanent alliance, 'offensive and defensive' (the old man would have chuckled but for the poignant wretchedness of the face now hidden in Lady Wantley's hands) must have been hatching--when Downing was with him here, in St. James's Place!