"No," she replied. "He went yesterday to Marshdale House, his place in Surrey, and will not return until to-morrow. I think you will like him, Charles." "I hope you do," replied Charles involuntarily. "That is the chief consideration, Blanche." He looked at her meaningly as he spoke, and it brought a blush to her face. What a lovely face it was--fair and pure, its blue eyes haughty as of yore, its golden hair brilliant and abundant! She wore a simple evening dress of white muslin, and a blue sash, an inexpensive necklace of twisted blue beads on her neck, no bracelets at all on her arms. She looked what she really was--an inexperienced school-girl. Lord Level's engagement ring on her finger, with its flashing diamonds, was the only ornament of value she had about her. In the momentary silence that ensued, Blanche left her seat and went to stand at the open window. "Oh," she exclaimed, an instant later, "I do think this may be Tom! A cab has stopped here." Charles Strange rose. Mrs. Guy lifted her finger, and he bent down to her. Blanche was still at the window. "She does not know he has sold out," warningly breathed Mrs. Guy. "She knows nothing of his wild ways, or the fine market he has brought his eggs to, poor fellow. We have kept it from her." Charles nodded; and the servant opened the door with another announcement. "Captain Heriot." Blanche flew across the room and was locked in her brother's arms. Poor Tom Heriot had indeed, as Mrs. Guy expressed it, with more force than elegance, brought his eggs to a fine market. It was some few months now since he sold out of the Army; and what he was doing and how he contrived to exist and flourish without money, his friends did not know. During the spring he had made his appearance in Paris to prefer an appeal for help to Charles, and Charles had answered it to the extent of his power. Just as gay, just as light-hearted, just as _débonnaire_ as ever was Tom Heriot. To see him and to hear him as he sat this evening with them in Gloucester Place, you might have thought him as free from care as an Eton boy--as flourishing as a duke-royal. Little blame to Blanche that she suspected nothing of the existing state of things. When Charles rose to say "Good-night," Tom Heriot said it also, and they went away together. "Charley, lad," said the latter, as the street-door closed behind them, "could you put me up at your place for two nights--until after this wedding is over?" "To be sure I can. Leah will manage it." "All right. I have sent a portmanteau there." "You did not come up from Southampton to-day, Tom? Blanche thought you did." "And I am much obliged to them for allowing her to think it. I would have staked my last five-pound note, if you'll believe me, Charley, that old Carlen had not as much good feeling in him. I am vegetating in London; have been for some time, Blanche's letter was forwarded to me by a comrade who lets me use his address."