'O dear, no she leads the quietest life that any lady could live. Many a one would think it very dull; but she doesn't, what with her books, and music, and baby, and her letters to Mr. Griswold. She is sometimes sorrowful, but never dull. She has some visitors at times, but I don't think she cares for them--one person is pretty much the same to her as another, when it is not Mr. Griswold--and one day she said to me, "I have no intimates, and my husband has very few for so wonderfully sociable a man, and such a general favourite as he is."' 'Then there is no one to take care of her in particular?' said Miss Montressor; 'for she is young, you know, to be left alone with so much to look after and to do as there must be in the care of all this,'--with a comprehensive sweep of her arm, intended to take in all the household goods at once. 'O, no, there is no one to take care of her,' said Mrs. Jenkins; 'but she can take very good care of herself. She always wishes to do, and she always does, what is right and good and kind towards every one.' Miss Montressor was profoundly discouraged. Her embassy was not prospering; the worst that they feared was true, and the aid on which they had speculated did not seem to be forthcoming. Mrs. Griswold had no relatives and no intimates. Mr. Griswold had no relatives, and if he had any intimates, Mrs. Jenkins could evidently have no information concerning them. What was to be done now? Miss Montressor dared not pursue her questioning of her sister any further, and hastily decided that the best thing she could do would be to return to the hotel and narrate to Bryan Duval exactly what had passed. She felt that her mission was but imperfectly executed; but its solemnity and importance had grown upon her with every moment since she had entered Mrs. Griswold's house, and she was now strongly actuated by a nervous desire to get out of it as soon as possible. She looked at her watch and started up in a hurry. 'I must be going, Bess,' she said; 'I had no notion it was so late. I am overdue at rehearsal, and here I have stayed talking about other people, and not said anything of all I wanted to say to you. Come along down-stairs with me.' 'You will come again, Clara?' said Mrs. Jenkins. 'Nobody will ever suspect you in that gown and with that great shawl--it spoils your figure, dear, but never mind.' 'I will try,' said Miss Montressor, 'I will see about it; if not, you can come to me. Good-bye now.' Mrs. Jenkins had come to the door with her; the hall was empty as the sisters spoke their last few words there. Mrs. Jenkins's hand was upon the lock of the street door when the bell was rung. She mechanically drew back the lock, and a gentleman presented himself. He was a young man, tall, slight, and upright, with bright black eyes and dark complexion, fine curly black hair, and a dark moustache. 'Is Mrs. Griswold at home?' he said.