"Yes, if you'll do _me_ one. Let me see if your picture is signed." She glanced at the sketch before giving it to me. "For a wonder it isn't." "It ought to be, for full value. May I keep it awhile?" "Yes, if you'll do what I ask. Take an umbrella and go after Mr. Vawdrey." "To bring him to Mrs. Adney?" "To keep him out--as long as you can." "I'll keep him as long as the rain holds off." "Oh, never mind the rain!" my companion exclaimed. "Would you have us drenched?" "Without remorse." Then with a strange light in her eyes she added: "I'm going to try." "To try?" "To see the real one. Oh, if I can get at him!" she broke out with passion. "Try, try!" I replied. "I'll keep our friend all day." "If I can get at the one who does it"--and she paused, with shining eyes--"if I can have it out with him I shall get my part!" "I'll keep Vawdrey for ever!" I called after her as she passed quickly into the house. Her audacity was communicative, and I stood there in a glow of excitement. I looked at Lord Mellifont's water-colour and I looked at the gathering storm; I turned my eyes again to his lordship's windows and then I bent them on my watch. Vawdrey had so little the start of me that I should have time to overtake him--time even if I should take five minutes to go up to Lord Mellifont's sitting-room (where we had all been hospitably received), and say to him, as a messenger, that Mrs. Adney begged he would bestow upon his sketch the high consecration of his signature. As I again considered this work of art I perceived there was something it certainly did lack: what else then but so noble an autograph? It was my duty to supply the deficiency without delay, and in accordance with this conviction I instantly re-entered the hotel. I went up to Lord Mellifont's apartments; I reached the door of his salon. Here, however, I was met by a difficulty of which my extravagance had not taken account. If I were to knock I should spoil everything; yet was I prepared to dispense with this ceremony? I asked myself the question, and it embarrassed me; I turned my little picture round and round, but it didn't give me the answer I wanted. I wanted it to say: "Open the door gently, gently, without a sound, yet very quickly: then you will see what you will see." I had gone so far as to lay my hand, upon the knob when I became aware (having my wits so about me), that exactly in the manner I was thinking of--gently, gently, without a sound--another door had moved, on the opposite side of the hall. At the same instant I found myself smiling rather constrainedly upon Lady Mellifont, who, on seeing me, had checked herself on the threshold of her room. For a moment, as she stood there, we exchanged two or three ideas that were the more singular for being unspoken. We had caught each other hovering, and we understood each other; but as I stepped over to her (so that we were separated from the sitting-room by the width of the hall), her lips