Monsieur waited, in a little stiff salon with glass doors, prim furniture, and an elaborately ornamental French clock. It was silent, of course. One wonders sometimes whether ornamental French Ormolu clocks have any works, or are solid throughout. For no one has ever seen one of them going. There were day-old English papers on the table, and the New York Herald. Through the glass doors he could see everyone who came in or went out. And he saw no one. There was a stillness as of the tomb. Even the waiter, now laying covers for the déjeûner, wore list slippers and his movements were silent as a heron's ghost-gray flight. He came to the glass door presently. "Did Monsieur breakfast?" Vernon was not minded to waste two days in the pursuit of uncles. Here he was, and here he stayed, till Uncle James should appear. Yes, decidedly, Monsieur breakfasted. He wondered where the clients of the hotel had hidden themselves. Were they all dead, or merely sight-seeing? As his watch shewed him the approach of half-past twelve he found himself listening for the tramp of approaching feet, the rustle of returning skirts. And still all was silent as the grave. The sudden summoning sound of a bell roused him from a dreamy wonder as to whether Betty and her aunt had already left. If not, should he meet them at déjeûner? The idea of the possible meeting amused more than it interested him. He crossed the hall and entered the long bare salle á manger. By Heaven--he was the only guest! A cover was laid for him only--no, at a distance of half the table for another. Then Betty and her aunt had gone. Well, so much the better. He unfolded his table-napkin. In another moment, doubtless, Uncle James would appear to fill the vacant place. But in another moment the vacant place was filled--and by Betty--Betty alone, unchaperoned, and bristling with hostility. She bowed very coldly, but she was crimson to the ears. He rose and came to her holding out his hand. With the waiter looking on, Betty had to give hers, but she gave it in a way that said very plainly: "I am very surprised and not at all pleased to see you here." "This is a most unexpected pleasure," he said very distinctly, and added the truth about his uncle. "Has Monsieur Vernon yet returned?" he asked the waiter who hovered anxiously near. "No, Monsieur was not yet of return." "So you see," his look answered the speech of her hand, "it is not my doing in the least." "I hope your aunt is well," he went on, the waiter handing baked eggs the while. "Quite well, thank you," said Betty. "And how is your wife? I ought to have asked yesterday, but I forgot." "My wife?" "Oh, perhaps you aren't married yet. Of course my father told me of your engagement." She crumbled bread and smiled pleasantly. "So _that's_ it," thought Vernon. "Fool that I was to forget it!" "I am not married," he said coldly, "nor have I ever been engaged to be married."