She began at once in a low, hurried voice that seemed to have a strain of anger running beneath it. “I got the two letters I wrote you returned to me to-day through the dead-letter office. Nothing was known about you at the address you gave.” “I am not surprised,” he replied. “Then it was false?” “As an address it was perfectly genuine, only it didn’t happen to be mine.” “Were you _ever_ in the Church?” “Not to my personal knowledge.” “Yet you said you were?” “I was in an asylum.” She looked up at him with fine contempt, while he smiled back at her with great amusement. “You have deceived _me_,” she said, “and you have treated your other friend—who is far too good for you—disgracefully. Have you anything to say for yourself?” “Not a word,” he replied, cheerfully. “You must _never_ treat me again as—as I let you.” As a smile played for an instant about his face, she added quickly, “I don’t _suppose_ I shall ever see you again. In future we are not _likely_ to meet.” “The lady and the lunatic?” said he. “Well, perhaps not. Good-bye, and better luck.” “Good-bye,” she answered coldly, and added as they parted, “my mother, of course, is extremely angry with you.” “There,” he said with a smile, “you see I still come in useful.” She hurried away, and Mr Bunker walked slowly downstairs and out of the hotel. “It seems to me,” he reflected, “that I shall have to set out on my adventures again alone.” CHAPTER VI. The Baron’s natural good temper might have forgiven his friend, but all night he was a prey to something against which no temper is proof. The Baron was bitterly jealous. All through breakfast he never spoke a word, and when Mr Bunker asked him what train he intended to take, he replied curtly, as he went to the door, “Ze 5.30.” “And where do you go now?” “Vat is zat to you? I go for a valk. I vould be alone.” “Good-bye, then, Baron,” said Mr Bunker. “I think I shall go up to town.” “Go, zen,” replied the Baron, opening the door; “I haf no furzer vish to see a treacherous _sponge_ zat vill neizer be true nor fight, bot jost takes money.” He slammed the door and went out. If he had waited for a moment, he would have seen a look in Mr Bunker’s face that he had never seen before. He half started from his chair to follow, and then sat down again and thought with his lips very tight set. All at once they broke into a smile that was grimmer than anything the Baron had known. “I accept your challenge, Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg,” he said to himself; “but the weapons I shall choose myself.” He took a telegraph form, wrote and despatched a wire, and then with considerable haste proceeded to pack. Within an hour he had left the hotel. * * * * *