"What has Miss Clode to say to you?" said Mellersh huskily. "Miss Clode? This is not from Miss Clode. Look--no, I cannot show you," cried Richard excitedly. "Yes, I will; I keep nothing from you." Mellersh glanced at the note which had been delivered by hand. It was anonymous, and only contained these words: "If Mr Richard Linnell wishes for further proof of the unworthiness of a certain lady, let him visit Mrs Pontardent's to-night." "That cannot be from Miss Clode," said Richard, as he saw his friend's face resume its cynical calm. "Possibly not. Of course not. Why should she write to you? Well, Dick, we'll go and see the affair to-night; but what do you mean to do?" "Act according to circumstances. At any rate stop this wretched business." "Good," said Mellersh. "I'm with you, Dick; but if it comes to a meeting this time, let me take the initiative. I should like to stand in front of Rockley some morning. The man irritates me, and I am in his debt." "What, money?" "No; I want to pay back a few insults thrown at me over the tables now and then." Volume Two, Chapter XXIII. AN EXACTING GUEST. Mrs Pontardent was a lady of a class who prospered well in the days when George the Third was king, and fashionable men considered it the correct thing to ruin themselves at cards wherever the tables were opened for the purpose. If you go to an auction sale now, in out-of-the-way places, there are sure to be card-tables in the catalogue; but if you furnish newly, your eyes rarely light upon green baize-lined tables exhibited for sale. There were several at Mrs Pontardent's handsomely-furnished detached house in Prince's Road, where it stood back in fairly extensive grounds. In fact, it was, after Lord Carboro's, one of the best houses close to Saltinville. There were plenty of carriages waiting about in the road that night--so many along by the garden wall that Major Rockley found it necessary to alter his plans, for a post-chaise and four was likely to attract attention, and its postboys might be the objects of a good deal of ribald jest if they were close up with the servants of the private carriages. To meet this difficulty, not being able to find his servant, he went round himself to the livery-stables, feed the postboys, and gave them instructions to wait in the back lane close by the door in the wall at the north side of the garden. That door was only unlocked when the gardener was receiving fresh soil, plants or pots, or found it necessary to go out for a quiet refresher in the heat of the day; but after an interview and the offer of a golden key, the gardener thought it possible that the door might be left open that night. Mrs Pontardent lived in style, and her rooms deserved the title of saloons, draped as they were with amber satin, and bright with wax candles, whose light was reflected from many girandoles.