tre."

"I'm afraid I do not," Foote replied. "My idea is the 'Perigord' for a
little supper, and then to bed. Browne, old man, I have been through a
good deal for you to-night. I like the young lady very much, but
Madame Bernstein is--well, she is Madame Bernstein. I can say no more."

"Never mind, old chap," said Browne, patting his companion on the
shoulder. "You have the satisfaction of knowing that your martyrdom is
appreciated; the time may come when you will want me to do the same
thing for you. One good turn deserves another, you know."

"When I want a turn of that description done for me, I will be sure to
let you know," Foote continued; "but if I have any sort of luck, it
will be many years before I come to you with such a request. When I
remember that, but for my folly in showing you that picture in Waterloo
Place, we should by this time be on the other side of the Eddystone,
_en route_ for the Mediterranean and sunshine, I feel as if I could sit
down and weep. However, it is _kismet_, I suppose?"

Browne offered no reply.

"Are you coming in?" said Foote as they reached the doorstep of the
Perigord Club.

"No, thank you, old man," said Browne. "I think, if you will excuse
me, I will get home."

"Good-night, then," said Foote; "I shall probably see you in the
morning."

Having bidden him good-night, Browne proceeded on his way.

Next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, he betook himself to
Kensington Gardens, where he wandered about for upwards of an hour, but
saw no sign of the girl he hoped to meet. Leaving the Gardens, he made
his way to the High Street, with an equally futile result. Regardless
of the time he was wasting, and of everything else, he passed on in the
direction of Addison Road. As disappointment still pursued him, he
made up his mind to attempt a forlorn hope. Turning into the Melbury
Road, he made for German Park Road, and reaching the studio, rang the
bell. When the door was opened he found himself confronted with an
elderly person, wearing a sack for an apron, and holding a bar of
yellow soap in her hand.

"I have called to see Miss Petrovitch," he said.

"She is not at home, sir," the woman replied. "She has not been here
this morning. Can I give her any message?"

"I am afraid not," Browne replied. "I wanted to see her personally;
but you might tell her that Mr. Browne called."

"Mr. Browne," she repeated. "Very good, sir. You may be sure I will
te