“If I am to do that, I must tell you a story. It will simplify matters, and it won’t take very long. As you are aware, before my uncle’s death, I might have been described as a struggling artist. I was painting my biggest work at that time, and was most anxious to find a model for the central figure. I had hunted London over, but without success, when Mr. Fensden here happened to discover an Italian model whom he thought might be of use to me. I saw her, and immediately secured her services. In company with her mother, she had been in England for some little time, and was glad to accept my offer of employment. When the picture was finished and hung, I still retained her services, because I liked the girl and found her useful to me in some other work I had on hand. Then my uncle died, and I came into the estate. Mr. Fensden and I immediately agreed to travel, and we accordingly set off together for Egypt and the East, intending to be away about a year. At the same time, it must be borne in mind, the girl and her mother had returned to Italy. While we were at Luxor, I received a letter from her, forwarding me her address in Naples, in case I might desire to communicate with her concerning future work. Some three weeks later my mother was taken ill, and I was telegraphed for to come home at once. I left Port Said in a mail steamer, intending to take the overland express from Naples to England. Having some hours to spend in the latter city, I thought there could be no harm in my discovering the mother and daughter. I did so, we dined together at a small restaurant, and went on to the Opera afterward.” “You did not tell me that,” said Fensden, quickly. “I did not deem it necessary,” said Godfrey. “I should have done so when we came to discuss the matter at greater length. But to continue my story. After the Opera I escorted them back to their dwelling, but I did not enter. On my way to my hotel afterward, I was nearly stabbed by a lover of my former model, a man, so she had informed me, who was extremely jealous of any one who spoke to her. Fortunately for me, he did not succeed in his attempt. I knocked him down, and took his dagger from him.” As he said this, he took the small poniard, with which the Italian had attempted his life, from a drawer, and handed it to the old gentleman. “Next morning I left Naples, to find, on reaching England, that my mother was decidedly better, and I need not have abandoned my tour. Then I met your daughter, fell in love with her, and in due course our engagement was announced. From the moment I said good-bye to her in Naples, until last Thursday night, I had neither seen nor heard anything of or from my former model.” “You saw her on Thursday night?” repeated the old gentleman. “In that case she must have returned to England?”