'And what I was saying before you came in, dear,' cried Miss M'Craw, who fully agreed with the sentiment just enunciated, 'was, that this being Wednesday, perhaps he will come again to-day. I fixed our little meeting for to-night, in order that you might all be here to see him in case he should come. It is strange, to say the least of it, that a young man should come for three weeks running and stare in at a garden belonging to people whom he does not know, at least, whom I suppose he does not know, for he has never made an attempt to go to the front gate to be let in.' 'There is something about these Claxtons--' said Mrs. Gannup. And the worthy lady was not permitted to finish her sentence, for Miss M'Craw, springing up from her chair, cried, 'There he is again, I declare, and punctual to the time I told you. Now bring the music-stool, quick!' Her visitors crowded round the window, and saw a tall man with a long fair beard ride up to the hedge of the Claxtons' garden, as had been described by Miss M'Craw, rein-in his horse, and stand up in his stirrups to look over the hedge. So far the programme had been carried out exactly, to the intense delight of the on-lookers. 'Tell us,' cried Mrs. Gannup to Miss M'Craw, who was mounted on a music-stool, 'tell us, is she in the garden?' 'She! No,' cried Miss M'Craw, from her coigne of vantage, 'she is not, but he is. Mr. Claxton is walking up and down the lawn with his hands behind his back, and directly the man on horseback saw him he ducked down. See, he is off already!' And as she spoke the rider turned his horse's head, and, followed by his groom, cantered slowly away. When he had gone for about a mile he reduced his horse's pace to a walk, and sitting back in his saddle, indulged in a low, noiseless, chuckling laugh. 'It was John Calverley; no doubt about that,' he said to himself. 'I thought it was he a fortnight ago, but this time I am sure of it. Fancy that sedate old fellow, so highly thought of in the City, one of the pillars of British commerce, as they call him, spending his spare time in that pretty box with that lovely creature. From the glance I had of her at the window just now she seems as bewitching as ever. What a life for her, to be relegated to the society of an old fogey like that!--old enough to be her father, at the very least, and knowing nothing except about subjects in which she can scarcely be expected to take much interest. Not much even of that society, I should say; for old Calverley still continues to live with his wife in Walpole-street, and can only come out here occasionally, of course. What a dull time she must have of it, this pretty bird! how she must long for some companionship! for instance, that of a man more of her own age, who has travelled, and who knows the world, and can amuse her, and treat her as she ought to be treated.'