Destiny having apparently taken sides with Diana in her new existence, she lost no time in availing herself of the varied and curious entertainment thrown in her way. The first thing she did on the next day but one of her arrival in London was to attempt a visit to her own former old home in Richmond, in order to see her “bereaved” parents. A private automobile from the hotel was supplied for her use at the hour she named in the afternoon,--an hour when she knew by old experience her mother would be dozing on the sofa after lunch, and her father would be in a semi-somnolent condition over the day’s newspaper. As she passed through the hotel lounge on her way to enter the car, she came face to face with her quondam lover, Captain the Honourable Reginald Cleeve, a heavily-built, fairly good-looking man of about fifty or more. She wondered, as she saw him, what had become of the once rather refined contour of the features she had formerly admired, and why the eyes that had “looked love into eyes that spake again” were now so small and peepy, and half hidden under lids that were red and puffy. Dressed with a quiet elegance and simplicity, she moved slowly towards him,--he was lighting a cigar and preparing to go out, but as he caught sudden sight of her he dropped the lit match with a “By Jove!” stamped its flame out under his foot, and hastening to the hotel door of exit, opened it, and, lifting his hat, murmured “Allow me!” with a glance of undisguised admiration. She bowed slightly and smiled her thanks--her smile was most enchanting, creating as it were a dazzle of light in the eyes of those who beheld it,--then she passed out into the street, where the hotel porter assisted her into her automobile, and watched her being driven away till she had disappeared. Captain Cleeve strolled up to the hotel office where the manageress sat at her desk,--he was on friendly terms with her, and could ask any question he liked. “Is that young lady staying here?” he now inquired--“The one who has just gone out?” “Yes. She came two days ago from abroad. A very beautiful girl, is she not?” Cleeve nodded. “Rather! I never saw anything like her. Do you know who she is?” “Her name is May,--Miss Diana May,” replied the manageress. “She was recommended here by,--dear me! Is there anything the matter?” For Captain the Honourable had gone suddenly white, and as suddenly become violently red in the face, while he gripped the edge of the counter against which he leaned as though afraid of falling. “No--no!” he answered, impatiently--“It’s nothing! Are you sure that’s her name?--Diana May?” “Quite sure! The manager of our bank brought her here, explaining that she had just arrived from Switzerland, where she has been educated--I think--in the house of one of his own friends who lives in Geneva--and that she was for the present alone in London. He is looking out for a lady chaperone and companion for her,--she has plenty of money.”