At ten minutes to eight he was to be seen standing in the vestibule of the Lyceum, waiting for the ladies to put in an appearance. When their carriage drove up he hastened forward to greet them, and conducted them forthwith to the box he had engaged. Nothing that could tend to their comfort had been omitted by this extravagant young man, and he found his reward in the tender little squeeze Molly gave his hand when he removed her cloak. During the evening he did not concern himself very much with the play; he watched his future wife’s pretty face and the expressions that played upon it. As soon as they were married he was determined to paint a life-size portrait of her, which he prophesied to himself would be the best piece of work he had ever accomplished. But even the happiest evenings must come to an end, and this particular one was no exception to the rule. When the curtain fell on the last act, he re-cloaked his two charges, and escorted them downstairs once more. Then, bidding them wait in the vestibule, he himself went out in search of their carriage. When he had placed them in it, he bade them good-night, and came very near being knocked over by a hansom as he watched them disappear in the traffic. The night was bitterly cold, and snow was falling. Reflecting that it would be wiser not to stand still, he turned up the collar of his coat, and wondered what he should do next. Should he go back to his hotel and to bed, or should he stroll on to his club and see who was there? He eventually decided in favour of the hotel, and accordingly set off along the Strand in the hope that he might presently be able to pick up a cab. He had reached Exeter Hall, when, with a cry of astonishment, he found himself standing face to face with the one person of all others he had least expected to see in England. It was Teresina! “Teresina!” he ejaculated, in surprise. “What on earth does this mean? How long have you been in England?” “Nearly a month,” she answered, looking away as if she desired to avoid his eyes. “And why did you not let me know that you were coming?” he asked, reproachfully. “You must surely remember that you promised to do so?” “I did not like to trouble you,” she replied, still in the same curiously hard voice. “You were not in London, and I thought you would be too busy to have time to spare for me.” “You know that is not true,” he answered. “I should be a mean brute if I did not find time to look after my friends. Where are you living? In the old house?” She paused for a moment before she replied. He noticed her embarrassment, but did not put the right construction upon it. “Near the Tottenham Court Road,” she said at last. “I don’t think you would know the street if I told you.” “And your mother, how is she?” He saw the look of pain which spread over her face, and noticed that her eyes filled with tears. “My mother is dead!” she answered, very quietly. “She died in Naples two months ago.”