"Let me look at you," cried Gertrude. "What is the charm? Where does it lie? Why are these sort of things always happening to you?" "Oh," answered Lucy, with an attempt at a smile, "I am a convenient, middling sort of person, that is all. Not uncomfortably clever like you, or uncomfortably pretty like Phyllis." The two girls set off up the hot dusty street, with its Sunday odour of bad tobacco. Regent's Park wore its most unattractive garb; a dead monotony of July verdure assailed the eye; a verdure, moreover, impregnated and coated with the dust and soot of the city. The girls felt listless and dispirited, and conscious that their walk was turning out a failure. As they passed through Clarence Gate, on their way back, Frank darted past them with something of his normal activity, lifting his hat with something like the old smile. "He might have stopped," said Lucy, pale to the lips, and suddenly abandoning all pretence of concealment of her feelings. "No doubt he is in a hurry;" answered Gertrude, lamely. "I daresay he is going to lunch in Sussex Place. Lord Watergate's Sunday luncheon parties are quite celebrated." The day dragged on. The weather was sultry and every one felt depressed. Fanny was spending the day with relations of her future husband's; but the three girls had no engagements and lounged away the afternoon rather dismally at home. All were relieved when Fanny and Mr. Marsh came in at supper-time, and they seated themselves at the table with alacrity. They had not proceeded far with the meal, when footsteps, unexpected but familiar, were heard ascending the staircase; then some one knocked, and before there was time to reply, the door was thrown open to admit Frank Jermyn. He looked curiously unlike himself as he advanced and shook hands amid an uncomfortable silence that everybody desired to break. His face was pale, and no longer moody, but tense and eager, with shining eyes and dilated nostrils. "You will stay to supper, Mr. Jermyn?" said Gertrude, at last, in her most neutral tones. "Yes, please." Frank drew a chair to the table like a person in a dream. "You are quite a stranger," cried arch, unconscious Fan, indicating with head and spoon the dish from which she proposed to serve him. Frank nodded acceptance of the proffered fare, but ignored her remark. Silence fell again upon the party, broken by murmurs from the enamoured Edward, and the ostentatious clatter of knives and forks on the part of people who were not eating. Every one, except the plighted lovers, felt that there was electricity in the air. At last Frank dropped his fork, abandoning, once for all, the pretence of supper. "Miss Lucy," he cried across the table to her, "I have a piece of news." She looked up, pale, with steady eyes, questioning him. "I am going abroad to-morrow." "Oh, where are you going?" cried Fanny, vaguely mystified. "I am going to Africa."