It was ridiculously early when I woke, and my first conscious thought was a joyous one, that now only one day intervened between me and the call I promised myself to make at Lady Tressidy's. I had endeavoured to explain to my own satisfaction the presence of a portrait which I believed to represent Miss Cunningham at the House by the Lock. There were many ways in which it might have found a place there, without betokening any great intimacy between the original of the picture and Carson Wildred. It might have been an Academy success which he had purchased; it might be even that the resemblance was merely one of chance. Still, try as I might to settle the doubts which, no matter how often discarded, invariably came crowding back to my brain, I was already far too deeply plunged into love to remember with calmness my glimpse of the canvas under the drapery. Of course it would be impossible for me to refer to it in talking with Lady Tressidy or Miss Cunningham, if I were lucky enough to see them on Sunday; but in some indirect way I might be able to induce one of them to mention it. I could refer to my visit to the House by the Lock perhaps, touching lightly upon my impression of the striking decorations in the studio, or smoking-room, and then, if there were nothing to conceal, and Miss Cunningham were aware that Mr. Wildred possessed her portrait, it would be very natural that a word or two in regard to it might pass her lips. As I was on my way down to breakfast a little after ten, I met one of the bell boys with a telegram, which he had been on the way to bring to my door. It was a long and elaborate message, and glancing down to the end of the seven or eight lines I read Farnham's name. I then went back to the beginning again. "So sorry not to have seen you yesterday," the words ran. "Wildred has come to town, bringing my luggage, on receipt of a wire from me saying I have just heard of important financial business calling me to America at once. Has told me of your visit. Very vexed can't keep engagement with you to-night, and that this must after all be farewell, as am leaving immediately for Southampton by boat train. Good-bye and good luck to you. Will write you soon from other side, addressing Savoy Hotel. Yours, HARVEY FARNHAM." I cannot say I felt any very deep disappointment at the thought that I should not see my friend from the States again. I liked him, and had found him a pleasant companion, but had it not been for the strange and unpleasant dream which had somehow gifted him with an artificial importance in my mind, I should have cherished few regrets at his sudden flitting. As it was, I had a curious sense of uneasiness, and an inexplicable impression that in some undefined way I had done him an injustice, or been careless of his interests, though in reality I was very sure I had done nothing of the kind.