ut let him play the game, if he goes to
Walton, off his own bat.'

Presently Merton received a note from Jephson dated 'The Perch, Walton-on-
Dove.' Jephson expressed his gratitude; the place suited his purpose
very well. He had taken a brace and a half of trout, 'bordering on two
pounds' ('one and a quarter,' thought Merton). 'And, what won't interest
_you_,' his letter said, 'I have run across a curiously interesting
subject, what _you_ would call _hysterical_. But what, after all, is
hysteria?' &c., &c.

'_L'affaire est dans le sac_!' said Merton to himself. 'Jephson and Miss
Monypenny have met!'

Weeks passed, and one day, on arriving at the office, Merton found Miss
Willoughby there awaiting his arrival. She was the handsome Miss
Willoughby, Jephson's betrothed, a learned young lady who lived but
poorly by verifying references and making researches at the Record
Office.

Merton at once had a surmise, nor was it mistaken. The usual greetings
had scarcely passed, when the girl, with cheeks on fire and eyes aflame,
said:

'Mr. Merton, do you remember a question, rather unconventional, which you
put to me at the dinner party you and Mr. Logan gave at the restaurant?'

'I ought not to have said it,' said Merton, 'but then it was an
unconventional gathering. I asked if you--'

'Your words were "Had I a spark of the devil in me?" Well, I have! Can
I--'

'Turn it to any purpose? You can, Miss Willoughby, and I shall have the
honour to lay the method before you, of course only for your
consideration, and under seal of secrecy. Indeed I was just about to
write to you asking for an interview.'

Merton then laid the circumstances in which he wanted Miss Willoughby's
aid before her, but these must be reserved for the present. She
listened, was surprised, was clearly ready for more desperate adventures;
she came into his views, and departed.

'Jephson _has_ played the game off his own bat--and won it,' thought
Merton to himself. 'What a very abject the fellow is! But, after all, I
have disentangled Miss Willoughby; she was infinitely too good for the
man, with his squint.'

As Merton indulged in these rather Pharisaical reflections, Mrs.
Nicholson was announced. Merton greeted her, and gave orders that no
other client was to be admitted. He was himself rather nervous. Was
Mrs. Nicholson in a rage? No, her eyes beamed friendly; geniality
clothed her brow.

'He has squared her,' thought Merton.