ancied to see her in the park one evening. She had the hardihood
to meet my eyes with a blank denial, and very plainly there was
nothing to be learned from her. A visit, many visits to the London
parks at the hour between eleven and midnight taught me no more; but
being by now thoroughly interested in the affairs of Lady Emily Rich I
made it my business to get a glimpse of her. She was, it seemed, the
only unmarried daughter of the large Richborough family which had done
so well in that sex, and so badly in the other that there was not only
no son, but no male heir to the title. That, indeed, expired with Lady
Emily's father. I don't really know how many daughters there were, or
were not. Most of them married prosperously. One of them became a
Roman princess; one married a Mr. Walker, an American stock-jobber
(with a couple of millions of money); another was Baroness de
Grass--De Grass being a Jew; one became an Anglican nun to the
disgust (I was told) of her family. Lady Emily, whose engagement to
the wretched Maxfield was so dramatically terminated was, I think, the
youngest of them. I saw her one night toward the end of the season at
the Opera. Tendring, who was with me, pointed her out in a box. She
was dressed in black and looked very scared. She hardly moved once
throughout the evening, and when people spoke to her seemed not to
hear. She was certainly a very pretty girl. It may have been fancy, or
it may not, but I could have sworn to the corner of a pinky-brown
envelope sticking out of the bosom of her dress. I don't think I was
mistaken; I had a good look through the glasses. She touched it
shortly afterward and poked it down. At the end I saw her come out. A
tall girl, rather thin; very pretty certainly, but far from well. Her
eyes haunted me; they had what is called a hag-ridden look. And yet,
thought I, she had got her desire of Quidnunc. Ah, but had she? Hear
the end of the tale.

I say that I saw her come out, that's not quite true. I saw her come
down the staircase and stand with her party in the crowded lobby. She
stood in it, but not of it; for her vague and shadowed eyes sought
otherwhere than in those of the neat-haired young man who was
chattering in front of her. She scanned, rather, the throng of people
anxiously and guardedly at once, as if she was looking for somebody,
and must not be seen to look. As time wore on and the carriage
delayed, her nervousness increased. She seemed to get paler, she s