"Yes, madame, but that is not confined to France; we have exactly the same thing in England. My house is Calverley and Co.; Co. stands for 'company,' vous savvy," said John, with a great dash at airing his French. "Ah, you have partners?" asked Pauline. "Well, no, not exactly," said John evasively, looking over her bead, and rattling the keys in his trousers-pockets. "I think I heard of one Monsieur Claxton." "Eh," said John, looking at her disconcertedly, "Claxton, eh? O yes, of course." "And yet it is strange that, intimate, lié, bound up as this Monsieur Claxton must be with you in your affairs, you have never brought him to this house--Madame Calverley has never seen him. I should like to see this Monsieur Claxton, do you know? I should--" But John Calverley stepped hurriedly forward and laid his hand upon her arm. "Stay, for God's sake," he said, with an expression of terror in every feature; "I hear Mrs. Calverley's step on the stairs. Do not mention Mr. Claxton's name in this house; I will tell you why some other time--only--don't mention it!" "I understand," said Pauline quietly; and when Mrs. Calverley entered the room, she found her guest deeply absorbed in the photographic album. That night the party broke up early. Mr. Calverley, though he used every means in his power to disguise the agitation into which his conversation with Pauline had thrown him, was absent and embarrassed; while Pauline herself was so occupied in thought over what had occurred, and so desirous to be alone, in order that she might have the opportunity for full reflection, that she did not, as usual, encourage her hostess in the small and spiteful talk in which that lady delighted, and none were sorry when the clock, striking ten, gave them an excuse for an adjournment.