than that," said the clerk equably. "But
there are none on just now."

"I can't think what has become of him. He made an appointment with me for
this morning. And where's his _Times_?"

Mr. Taylor could not tell where; he had been looking for the newspaper on
his own account. It was not to be found; and they could only come to the
conclusion that the barrister had taken it out with him.

"I wish you'd go out and buy me one," said Val.

"I'll go with pleasure, my lord. But suppose any one comes to the door?"

"Oh, I'll answer it. They'll think Carr has taken on a new clerk."

Mr. Taylor laughed, and went out. Hartledon, tired of sitting, began
to pace the room and the ante-room. Most men would have taken their
departure; but he had nothing to do; he had latterly shunned that portion
of the world called society; and was as well in Mr. Carr's chambers as
in his own lodgings, or in strolling about with his troubled heart.
While thus occupied, there came a soft tap to the outer door--as was
sure to be the case, the clerk being absent--and Val opened it. A
middle-aged, quiet-looking man stood there, who had nothing specially
noticeable in his appearance, except a pair of deep-set dark eyes, under
bushy eyebrows that were turning grey.

"Mr. Carr within?"

"Mr. Carr's not in," replied the temporary clerk. "I dare say you can
wait."

"Likely to be long?"

"I should think not. I have been waiting for him these two hours."

The applicant entered, and sat down in the clerk's room. Lord Hartledon
went into the other, and stood drumming on the window-pane, as he gazed
out upon the Temple garden.

"I'd go, but for that note of Carr's," he said to himself. "If--Halloa!
that's his voice at last."

Mr. Carr and his clerk had returned together. The former, after a few
moments, came in to Lord Hartledon.

"A nice fellow you are, Carr! Sending me word to be here at eleven
o'clock, and then walking off for two mortal hours!"

"I sent you word to wait for me at your own home!"

"Well, that's good!" returned Val. "It said, 'Be here at eleven,' as
plainly as writing could say it."

"And there was a postscript over the leaf telling you, on second thought,
_not_ to be here, but to wait at home for me," said Mr. Carr. "I
remembered a matter of business that would take me up your way this
morning, and thought I'd go on to you. It's just your careless fashion,
Hartledon, reading only half your letters! You should have turned it