Would the day never pass? Would Mr. Patten never come? The afternoon was far advanced, and May was still sitting, as she had been sitting all the morning, buried in the arm-chair which commanded a view of the street, with a little table at her elbow. On this table were some memorials of her early girlhood: the jewels which she had worn at her first ball; a photograph of herself surrounded by her bridesmaids in the drawing-room in Grosvenor-square; and almost the first present she had ever received, a double scent-bottle, which Frank Eardley had given to her years ago. She could not tell why she had brought out these things at this particular time--their association with that period of her life, when she was young and innocent, may have had something to do with it; but there they were, and between her intervals of looking out of window and listening to the approaching footsteps, May Forestfield turned them idly over and over, and seemed to derive satisfaction from looking at them. There came a ring at the bell, and May, whose attention had been diverted from the window, started at the sound. It must be Mr. Patten at last! No, the advancing footstep on the stairs was much lighter than the solid ponderous tread of the worthy attorney. A man's foot too, but soft and active--it must be Sir Nugent Uffington, though May had reason to believe from what he had said on the previous evening that he would not call there that day. Then the door opened quickly, and May's expectant glance fell upon Gustave de Tournefort. He came forward impetuously, but seeing that May shrank back, and held up her hand as though warning him off, he stopped short. 'You are surprised to see me?' he said. May could not answer for a minute. Then she said, 'I am indeed surprised; I had no idea that I should ever set eyes on you again.' 'That would have been your own fault,' said De Tournefort; 'it is your own fault that I have not been with you long since. You received my letter?' May bowed her head. 'But you sent me no answer.' 'I did not think that there was any necessity for answering such a letter,' said May firmly. 'No necessity for an answer!' cried De Tournefort. 'Do you recollect what that letter contained? In it I told you that I had heard that your husband was about to claim the aid of the law, and that in a short time you were likely to be free. I told you that I had done you a grievous wrong, and that I owed you reparation, and I pledged myself, so soon as the law had given you freedom, to make you my wife.' 'I have a perfect recollection of every word of that letter, M. de Tournefort,' said May coldly, 'and you have quoted it quite correctly.' 'And yet to such a letter as that, in which a man laid himself at your feet,' said De Tournefort passionately, 'you thought fit to send no answer.' 'The answer which I should have sent would probably have been even more objectionable to you than my silence,' said May.