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“I say, old fellow,” he said, pressing Charlie’s arm as if he had known him all his life, “there was somebody in that summer-house, eh?”

Charlie turned with a smile and a blush. He felt confidential.

“Yes, there was, only Victor—-“

“Oh, I know. I nearly break his head whenever he mentions any girl I like.”

“You know what he’d have thought–and it wasn’t anything like that really.”

“Who was she, then?”

“I–I don’t know.”

“Oh, I don’t mean her name, of course. But what was she?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where did she come from?”

“London, I believe.”

“Oh! I say, that’s a queer go, Merceron.”

“I don’t know what to think about it. She’s simply vanished,” said poor Charlie, and no one should wonder if his voice faltered a little. Calder Wentworth laughed at many things, but he did not laugh now at Charlie Merceron. Indeed he looked unusually grave.

“I should drop it,” he remarked. “It don’t look–well–healthy.”

“Ah, you’ve never seen her,” said Charlie.

“No, and I tell you what–it won’t be a bad thing if you don’t see her again.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re just in the state of mind to marry her.”

“And why shouldn’t I?”

Mr. Wentworth made no answer, and they walked on till they readied Piccadilly Circus. Then Charlie suddenly darted forward.

“Hullo, what’s up?” cried Calder, following him.

Charlie was talking eagerly to a very smart young lady who had just got down from an omnibus.

“By Jove! he can’t have found, her!” thought Calder.

It was not the unknown, but her friend Nettie Wallace, whom Charlie’s quick eye had discerned; and the next moment Willie Prime made his appearance. Charlie received them both almost with enthusiasm, and the news from Lang Marsh was asked and given. Calder drew near, and Charlie presented his friends to one another with the intent that he might get a word with Nettie while Calder engrossed her fiances attention.

“Have–have you heard from Miss Brown lately?” he was just beginning, when Calder, who had been looking steadily at Nettie, burst out:

“Hullo, I say, Miss Wallace, we’ve met before, haven’t we? You know me, don’t you?”

Nettie laughed.

“Oh, yes, I know you, sir. You’re—“

She paused abruptly, and glanced from Charlie to Calder, and back from Calder to Charlie. Then she blushed very red indeed.

“Well, who am I?”

“I–I saw you at–at Miss Glyn’s, Mr. Wentworth.”

“‘Course you did–that’s it;” and, looking curiously at the girl’s flushed face, he added: “Don’t be afraid to mention Miss Glyn; Mr. Merceron knows all about it.”

“All about it, does he, sir?” cried Nettie. “Well, I’m glad of that. I haven’t been easy in my mind ever since.”

Calder’s conformation of eye enabled him to express much surprise by facial expression, and at this moment he used his power to the full.

“Awfully kind of you, Miss Wallace,” said he, “but I don’t see where your responsibility comes in. Ever since what?”

Nettie shot a glance of inquiry at Charlie, but here too she met only bewilderment.

“Does he know that Miss Glyn is—” she began.

“Engaged to me? Certainly.”

“Oh!”

Willie stood by in silence. He had never heard of this Miss Glyn. Charlie, puzzled as he was, was too intent on Miss Brown to spend much time wondering why Miss Glyn’s affairs should have been a trouble to Nettie.

“You’ll let me know if you hear about her, won’t you?” he asked in a low voice.

Nettie gave up the hope of understanding. She shook her head.

“I’ll ask her, if I see her, whether she wishes it,” she whispered back; and, with a hasty good-night, she seized Willie’s arm and hurried him off. Charlie was left alone with Calder.

“What the deuce did she mean?” asked Calder.

“I don’t know,” answered Charlie.

“Where did you meet her?”

“Oh, down at home. The fellow she was with is a son of a tenant of ours; she’s going to marry him.”

“She’s a nice little girl, but I’m hanged if I know what she meant.”

And, as the one was thinking exclusively of Agatha Glyn, and the other spared a thought for no one but Agatha Brown, they did not arrive at an explanation.