Emmie was right; that very afternoon the two ladies left the place, taking leave of none, and not caring to face any of their former companions. At night the subject was discussed at _table d'hote_; fresh incidents were supplied, dull witticisms were made about Medusa and her snaky locks, and those who had before been most inclined to offer incense at the shrine of Madame B. were foremost now in hinting that her teeth, her eyebrows, and the faint pink color in her cheeks were one and all as artificial as her hair. As for me, I held my tongue. Nobody, not even Emmie, had the least suspicion of my budding _tendresse_ for the fascinating widow, and by and by some farther particulars became known about her. Her husband, a wealthy jeweler of Berlin, had been dead about two years, and had probably bequeathed to her, amongst much else, the diamond hoops which flashed so brightly on her pretty hands. My dream was over, I had been rudely awakened. Not for the sake of hearing "Adolph" murmured all day long in the soft accents of that dulcet voice could I, an English country gentleman, for a moment contemplate allying myself with the made-up widow of a German shopkeeper, however beautiful and attractive her appearance might be in full "war-paint." No, I would go back to my old home and my old ways, and forget the foreign siren who had dazzled me for a while. We stayed on at Salzbrun until my course of water-drinking was over, and then, after a fortnight's tour through other parts of Germany, I brought my niece home with me to the Manor House. Emmie had grown very dear to me in all these weeks that we have spent together. I do not think it would be quite fair to ask her parents to let her live with me entirely and be my adopted daughter; but I have been trying on one excuse and another to lengthen out her stay, and fondly hoped the Manor House would be a second home to her, and that at least half her time would in future be spent with me. But what is the use of planning? My fine schemes were all knocked on the head this morning, in the course of an hour's conversation, and I and my projects are simply nowhere in the new state of things. I was standing on my doorstep after breakfast, smoking calmly, and at peace with all mankind, when young Fred Willoughby came riding up the drive. "Hullo, young man," said I, "why are you not after the hounds this morning? You can't have better weather in November, and you won't find any fox in this direction, take my word for it." "It is rather a dove than a fox that I have come in pursuit of to-day, Mr. Slocombe. Can you give me ten minutes in the study?"