The nearer they came to Crichton House the more abjectly miserable became Mr. Bultitude's state of mind. It was as much as he could do to crawl up the steps to the front door, and his knees positively clapped together when the Doctor, who had driven home, met them in the hall and said in a still grave voice, "Bultitude, when you have taken off your coat, I want you in the study." He was as long about taking off his coat as he dared, but at last he went trembling into the study, which he found empty. He remembered the room well, with its ebony-framed etchings on the walls, bookcases and blue china over the draped mantelpiece, even to a large case of elaborately carved Indian chessmen in bullock-carts and palanquins, on horses and elephants, which stood in the window-recess. It was the very room to which he had been shown when he first called about sending his son to the school. He had little thought then that the time would come when he would attend there for the purpose of being flogged; few things would have seemed less probable. Yet here he was. But his train of thought was abruptly broken by the entrance of the Doctor. He marched solemnly in, holding out the offending missive. "Look at this, sir!" he said, shaking it angrily before Paul's eyes. "Look at this! what do you mean by receiving a flippant communication like this in a sacred edifice? What do you mean by it?" "I--I didn't receive it," said Paul, at his wits' end. "Don't prevaricate with me, sir; you know well enough it was intended for you. Have the goodness to read it now, and tell me what you have to say for yourself!" Paul read it. It was a silly little school-girl note, half slang and half sentiment, signed only with the initials C.D. "Well, sir?" said the Doctor. "It's very forward and improper--very," said Paul; "but it's not my fault--I can't help it. I gave the girl no encouragement. I never saw her before in all my life!" "To my own knowledge, Bultitude, she has sat in that pew regularly for a year." "Very probably," said Paul, "but I don't notice these matters. I'm past that sort of thing, my dear sir." "What is her name? Come, sir, you know that." "Connie Davenant," said Paul, taken unawares by the suddenness of the question. "At least, I--I heard so to-day." He felt the imprudence of such an admission as soon as he had made it. "Very odd that you know her name if you never noticed her before," said the Doctor. "That young fellow--what's-his-name--Jolland told me," said Paul. "Ah, but it's odder still that she knows yours, for I perceive it is directed to you by name." "It's easily explained, my dear sir," said Paul; "easily explained. I've no doubt she's heard it somewhere. At least, I never told her; it is not likely. I do assure you I'm as much distressed and shocked by this affair as you can be yourself. I am indeed. I don't know what girls are coming to nowadays." "Do you expect me to believe that you are perfectly innocent?" said the Doctor.