He had hardly read the note a second time, when Mrs Fiddison came in dolefully, to say that Mrs Jenkles wanted to speak to him; and upon that lady being admitted, it was to say, with a curtsey-- "If you please, sir, Mrs Lane says Miss Netta has been begging for you to be sent for, if you'd come." Richard rose to follow the messenger, who said, softly-- "You must be very quiet, sir, for she's greatly changed." Volume 3, Chapter XI. IN THE SQUARE CALLED RUSSELL. There's plenty of room in Russell Square for a walk, without the promenaders being seen by those without, either in the houses or on the pavement. Russell Square had grown very attractive to Frank Pratt of late, and he used to smoke cigars there at all sorts of hours. He had been seen by the milk there at 6:15, railway time; Z 17 had glanced suspiciously at him at one a.m.; while the crossing-sweeper said she "knowed that there little stumpy gent by heart." It was one afternoon about three, though, that Pratt was sauntering along one side of the square, when he saw Vanleigh and Sir Felix go slowly up to Sir Hampton's house; and a pang shot through the little fellow, as envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness took possession of his heart. "Lucky beggars!" he groaned. He felt better, though, the next minute, for the servant who answered the door had evidently said "Not at home!" card-cases had been withdrawn, and then the visitors had languidly descended the steps and continued their way. "Lucky beggars!" said Pratt again. "Heigho! what a donkey I am to wander about here. Poor Dick, though, it's to do him a good turn." He crossed the road to the railings of the garden, and as he walked there he cast a very languishing look up at the great, grim house, almost fancying he heard "Er-rum!" proceed from an open window; and if he had not said his presence there was on account of his friend, any looker-on would have vowed it was in his own interests. He walked slowly on, thinking about Cornwall, and another visit he had projected there; of Fin Rea; about Richard and his disappointments; about his pretty neighbour; and lastly of a case he had in hand, when a little toy dog rushed amongst the shrubs inside the railings, and began snapping and barking at him with all the virulence of an old acquaintance. "Get out, you little wretch!" thought Pratt, and then he fancied he recognised the dog. "Why, it's Pepine!" he mentally exclaimed. And if any doubt remained it was solved by a voice crying-- "Naughty Pepine, come here directly!" Then through the trees he caught a glimpse of a lavender dress gracefully draping an iron seat. It was not the dog that made Frank Pratt flee with rapid strides, till a thought made him check his steps. "Suppose some one else was walking there!"