We had met again and again by arrangement, but never had I got a note from her, and I read and kissed it a score of times, and committed many other absurdities while studying the bad writing, which somehow seemed totally unlike that of a lady; but then poor Gertrude had never ventured to write to me before. It contained but three lines, saying that she was unable to meet me as usual, for reasons I should learn if I would call, and see her after luncheon time, as papa and mamma had left town, and she should be quite alone. The boldness of this proceeding was so altogether unlike her, and so strange, that my mind became filled with vague fears of some impending calamity, and I counted every moment till, with a heart, the pulses of which certainly beat fast, I rang the sonorous bell at the door of the lofty house in St. George's Place, _then_ a more fashionable locality than now, for the house itself. is changed into a public building. I had never before entered it but once, though many a promenade I had made before its stately plate-glass windows, in hopes of obtaining a glimpse, however brief, of her I loved so dearly. "Jeames"--he of the calves and whiskers--opened the door rather wider, I thought, than before, and his usually stolid and stupefied visage wore a strange expression. That might all have been fancy, for _he_ could not know the secrets of his mistress. I warily did not ask for her; but on giving my card, inquired for "Sir Percival Chalcot, or either of the ladies," certain that she I wanted alone was "at home." The tall loafer in livery bowed, and ushered me up the great staircase once again; but instead of opening the door of the glittering drawing-room, where I expected to be met by the beaming face, the tender eyes, and radiant figure of her I loved, I was shown into the library, and found myself face to face with the baronet himself. He looked as high-nosed and aristocratic as ever, and, moreover, as grim and pale and stern as death. He barely acknowledged my somewhat bewildered bow--I felt conscious that I had not been sent for professionally--and instead of asking me to be seated, he took a chair himself, and left me standing opposite. Folding one leg over the other, and putting the tips of his fingers together, as he lay back, and mostly looked up to the ceiling-- "Sir," said he, "my son has, doubtless, informed you in his note of this morning that I wished to see you?" "Your son, Sir Percival--I received no note from him!" I replied, in utter bewilderment. "If Miss Chalcot is indisposed----" "Do not dare to name Miss Chalcot, fellow! She is by this time in France." "In France?" I repeated faintly, and with a sinking heart. "Yes; and beyond the reach of beggarly adventurers and _chevaliers d'industrie_." (So the letter had been a forgery by the brother--a lure for me.)