about me. Will you call on Mr.
Rolfe?"

"Is he married?"

Angelo opened his eyes at the question. "I think not," said he.
"Indeed, I know he is not."

"Could you get him down here?"

Angelo shook his head. "If he knew you, perhaps; but can you expect him
to come here upon your business? These popular writers are spoiled by
the ladies. I doubt if he would walk across the street to advise a
stranger. Candidly, why should he?"

"No; and it was ridiculous vanity to suppose he would. But I never
called on a gentleman in my life."

"Take me with you. You can go up at nine, and be back to a late
dinner."

"I shall never have the courage to go. Let me have his letter."

He gave her the letter, and she took it away.

At six o'clock she sent Mary Wells to Mr. Angelo, with a note to say
she had studied Mr. Rolfe's letter, and there was more in it than she
had thought; but his going off from her husband to boat-racing seemed
trivial, and she could not make up her mind to go to London to consult
a novelist on such a serious matter.

At nine she sent to say she should go, but could not think of dragging
him there: she should take her maid.

Before eleven, she half repented this resolution, but her maid kept her
to it; and at half past twelve next day they reached Mr. Rolfe's door;
an old-fashioned, mean-looking house, in one of the briskest
thoroughfares of the metropolis; a cabstand opposite to the door, and a
tide of omnibuses passing it.

Lady Bassett viewed the place discontentedly, and said to herself,
"What a poky little place for a writer to live in; how noisy, how
unpoetical!"

They knocked at the door. It was opened by a maid-servant.

"Is Mr. Rolfe at home?"

"Yes, ma'am. Please give me your card, and write the business."

Lady Bassett took out her card and wrote a line or two on the back of
it. The maid glanced at it, and showed her into a room, while she took
the card to her master.

The room was rather long, low, and nondescript; scarlet flock paper;
curtains and sofas green Utrecht velvet; woodwork and pillars white and
gold; two windows looking on the street; at the other end folding-doors
with scarcely any wood-work, all plate-glass, but partly hidden by
heavy curtains of the same color and material as the others. Accustomed
to large, lofty rooms, Lady Bassett felt herself in a long box here;
but the colors pleased her. She said to Mary Wells, "What a funny, cozy
little place for a gentleman to