“I can understand that,” said Miss Upton. “I don’t think the hotel life was quite congenial to her. Now, we Americans are brought up to live in public from our childhood, it’s second nature to us, and we are accustomed to so much more liberty than you allow your girls. I suppose though your English girls are much more tractable and obedient than we are.” Sir Matthew winced. “Comparisons are odious,” said Bruce Wylie, with ready politeness, and after a very scanty breakfast the two men retired discomforted, while Dick Lewisham and the bright-eyed American enjoyed a quiet laugh at their expense. To get any clue as to Evereld’s movements seemed impossible, and Sir Matthew did not care to put the matter into the hands of the police, or to employ a private detective. In his own mind he felt convinced that Evereld had gone to England, and he travelled home with the utmost speed, having first telegraphed to his confidential clerk to meet him at Victoria by the boat train on the following afternoon. “All well I hope, sir,” said Smither, the clerk, as Sir Matthew gave him a pleasant greeting. “Quite, thank you; did you get that address?” “Yes, sir,” and the clerk handed him a paper. “Da Costa the agent gave it me.” On the paper were inscribed the words, “Macneillie’s Company, September 20-27, Theatre Royal. Rilchester.” Sir Matthew promptly detached a key from his ring and handed it to Smither. “Just see my portmanteau through the Custom House,” he said, “I must catch the next train at King’s Cross, and will only take my bag with me.” He drove off, but took the precaution of calling at the house in Queen Anne’s Gate that he might see whether any clue as to Evereld’s movements was to be had from Geraghty or Bridget. Their entire ignorance was however so transparent, and Bridget’s inquiries after her young mistress were so natural that he went off to King’s Cross more certain than ever that Evereld had avoided London and had gone straight to her lover. He dined in the train, arrived at Rilchester soon after ten o’clock that evening, took up his quarters at the Station Hotel, and sent a messenger to the stage door of the theatre to inquire as to Ralph Denmead’s address, being careful to avoid giving his name. When however he had obtained what he wanted and after some trouble had discovered the quiet street to which he had been directed, it was only to find that Ralph was still at the theatre. “He’ll not be back for at least another half hour,” said the landlady. “Can I give him any message?” “I had better come in and wait,” said Sir Matthew. The landlady hesitated a moment, but being impressed as most people were by Sir Matthew’s manner and bearing, she admitted him and showed him into a fairly comfortable room where the supper-table was laid for two people.