Deering, she would be a charming woman if she let herself go. I was always interested in her. Why can't she get on with Deering? he is good-looking, well bred, well thought of, and not very much older than herself."

"Perhaps she does get on with him," said Glynn.

"I used not to care for Deering," replied Lady Gethin. "He had a quarrel with a cousin whom I liked very much, and who was killed afterwards, poor fellow. I have forgotten what the quarrel was about—a woman, I think, and I have an idea Travers behaved badly; but he is quite an irreproachable personage now, and monstrously civil to me, especially since poor dear Sir Peter bequeathed me all his real and personal property. Then, you know, we are second cousins, two or three times removed."

"Oh indeed! Well, he is very civil to me too, and I am certainly no relation but——"

"Aha! you are dearer than kith or kin," interrupted Lady Gethin; "you can give him financial tips, and chances of turning, I won't say an honest penny, but simple hundreds into splendid thousands by the varied sources of information you command. Ah! were I a man, I should like to be a financier, which is 'high falutin' for stock-broker."

Glynn smiled. "I have had very few business transactions with Deering, or for him. He is wealthy enough without help from any one. By the way, he is more inflammable than I imagined; we were at the Auteuil races together the day before yesterday, and when sauntering about we were both struck by a girl who was in an open carriage with two other ladies; she was certainly pretty—more than pretty—and Deering seemed quite fascinated, he could not keep away. It was not like his usual cool, high-bred indifference to all mundane things, to go back again and again to stare at the young lady, for you know he is rather a decent fellow as men go."

"You don't say so!" cried Lady Gethin, with keen interest. "What would Lady Frances have said?"

"The last time we went to look at the bright particular star, she and her party had left their carriage," continued Glynn. "Deering then seemed to pull himself together, and to remember he was not alone; but I could see he was desperately vexed to have lost sight of her, though he tried to laugh at himself, and said she was wonderfully like some one he used to know. I was both surprised and amused by his manoeuvres. I left him before the last race, and I rather fancy he was going to renew his search for her."

"Ah!" said Lady Gethin; "no doubt, thereby hangs a tale."

"Perhaps so. The young lady, however, is very young—little more than seventeen or eighteen, and she certainly did not recognize him—nor even notice him."

"The wisest have their weak moments," observed Lady Gethin, with an air of wisdom. "I certainly have never heard any queer stories about Deering. Did you see any one else you knew at Auteuil?"

"A few second-rate racing men, and George Verner."

"Oh, he generally haunts the Deerings when he is not at sea." After a good deal more talk, partly business, partly wittily told scandal, Glynn rose to take leave. "I dine at the Café de Florence to-day, with Captain Methvin and Madame Gauthier; will you join us?"

"I am unfortunately already engaged; so must forego that pleasure," said Glynn.

"I shall see you then as soon as you return to London, and be sure you tell me anything fresh about the Deerings."

"I don't fancy there will be any exciting esclandre in that quarter. If the weather continues as fine as it has been for the last few days, you will have a pleasant journey. Good-morning, Lady Gethin."

When Glynn left the hotel he walked briskly for a few minutes towards the Louvre, then he gradually relaxed his pace, as his thoughts disengaged themselves from his surroundings, and presented him with a picture they had frequently mirrored during the last three days.

After making a few purchases at the bookstalls of the Palais Royal, he made his way down the Rue St. Honoré, finally coming to a halt at the crowded crossing opposite the Madeleine, where the contrary currents coming from the Boulevards, meet the tributary tide of the Rue Royale. He was in no hurry; it amused him to see the huge omnibuses disgorging their contents; to watch eager women with parcels, and refractory children tightly held by the hand, make ineffectual dashes at the opposite shore, and come scurrying back again, baffled, but still resolute. To observe the little flower-girls plying their trade, and hear the sharp bargaining between them and their customers.

Suddenly, however, his eyes brightened; the expression of a lazy looker-on vanished, and was replaced by one of keen, vivid interest, as his glance fell on the original of the picture which had haunted him since the day of the races at Auteuil. A slight girlish figure, in a pale gray dress; a mantlet or scarf, edged with black lace, drawn closely round her; she was crowned by a pretty little hat, also bordered with black lace, and adorned with a large bouquet of primroses and tufts of narrow black velvet ribbon. Under the hat beamed a pair of thoughtful, earnest, dark-blue eyes—large and lustrous; eyes that none could pass unnoticed; long lashes; distinct, but delicate eyebrows; a clear, pale complexion; a sweet though not very small mouth, and abundant light golden-brown hair, made up a whole that might have attracted the attention of even a more "potent, grave, and reverend Signor" than Travers Deering of Denham.

This was the face and figure that had dwelt in Hugh Glynn's imagination since he had first seen them. In any case he must have noticed so fair a girl; but there was something in the effect she produced on Deering, that impressed him with a curious sense of interest and uneasiness.

He had laughed at his own condition of mind, as a silly after-glow of boyish folly, unworthy his experience and maturity. Yet there was a wonderful charm in the soft grace of her quiet movements, and, accustomed as he had been to women who rarely stirred out unattended, he looked round to ascertain if this delicate, refined creature had no companion, no bonne or chaperon. No! she was quite alone. Three times, while he watched her, she attempted to cross the street, and three times she returned baffled. Glynn could not lose such a chance; advancing to her side, he raised his hat and said, with grave politeness:

"There is an unusual crowd; will you allow me to see you safely to the other side?"

She raised her wonderful eyes to his with a slightly startled, but frank expression.

"Yes," she said simply, in exactly the low clear tones that might be expected from her. "I shall be very glad."

"Keep close to me," returned Glynn, and seizing a lull in the traffic, he piloted her to the pavement in front of the Madeleine.

"The reason of the strongest is always the best," she said, quoting La Fontaine aptly in his own language. "I should never have had resolution to seize that opportunity."

"I think I speak to a countrywoman," remarked Glynn.

"Yes, I consider myself English. I am very much obliged. Good-morning." This decidedly, though politely.

Glynn felt himself obliged to relinquish an eagerly-formed intention of drawing her into conversation. He could not thrust himself upon a lady, and he felt strongly disposed to believe that his new acquaintance was thoroughly a lady, though a knowledge of life in most European capitals disposed him to suspend his judgment. He followed her at a little distance as she threaded her way through the booths which shelter the flower-sellers and their fragrant wares, till she reached one where she was apparently greeted as a regular customer by its wrinkled owner. Then with a certain degree of contempt for his own weakness he turned resolutely away, and walked down the new Boulevard Malesherbes.

He had not gone far, when his attention was attracted by a figure advancing with a somewhat slouching gait towards him, a man of scarcely middle height, but broadly and strongly