“Roylands said this Caliphronas was coming over about six o’clock. He is staying at the Royland Arms, so I think I will walk over there and see him; but no, that will attract attention, and I wish to tell Roylands nothing yet. I will send a note; no, that will not do. Ah! I have it. I will wait at the park gates and speak to him before he comes up to the house. No one will know, and I can find out the reason of his presence here.” Decidedly this poet was a remarkably mysterious person, not only as concerned his own personality, but also as regarded this brilliant stranger who was so equally enigmatic. If Maurice found his life dull now, it evidently was not going to be so for any length of time; and, although he knew it not, the elements of romance had come into it in the most unexpected way in the persons of Crispin and Constantine Caliphronas. Having made up his mind, the poet thought no more about the Greek, but strolled round the side of the house to see if Eunice was at her window. He knew that Mrs. Dengelton especially affected a small boudoir in the left wing of the Grange, the window of which was only slightly raised above the terrace, and at this window Crispin felt sure Eunice would be. Fortunately for himself, he was right in his conjecture, for on arriving in sight of the casement, he saw Eunice sitting at it in a dejected attitude, evidently expectant of a visit from her lover. “Miss Dengelton!” he said cautiously, not knowing but that the dragon might be within hearing, and therefore adopting society manners. “She has gone out of the room for a few minutes,” said his lady in a frightened whisper. “Do go away.” “What! when the coast is clear! Not if I know it.” “I expect her back every minute.” “Very well; till she arrives we can talk about ourselves, and even when she does we can surely chat about the weather.” “I heard you laughing with Maurice.” “Yes; he is quite gay to-day. He has found a model for his statue of Endymion.” “Some village bumpkin?” “No, a Greek gentleman.” “A Greek! and pray what is a Greek doing down here?” Crispin shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure I don’t know. You will see him to-night, so don’t fall in love with him.” “Why should I?” “He is very handsome.” “I don’t care for handsome men, they are so conceited.” “Humph! that is not a compliment to me.” “Well, you are not conceited, are you?” “Nor handsome.” “You are handsome enough for me, at all events,” said Eunice coquettishly. “What a charming compliment!” replied Crispin gayly; “for that I will give you a rose.” “Hush! here comes my mother.” But Crispin, alas! had not heard the warning, and, having plucked the finest rose he could see, returned to the window, to find himself confronted by the gaudy figure of The Parrot, whose beady eyes sparkled maliciously as he approached.