xcellent references; and she gives remarkably little
trouble. I have no claim to interfere with her proceedings, and no
reason to doubt that she is capable of taking care of herself."

Mr. Rayburn unwisely attempted to say a word in his own defense.

"Allow me to remind you--" he began.

"Of what, sir?"

"Of what I observed, when I happened to see the lady in Kensington
Gardens."

"I am not responsible for what you observed in Kensington Gardens. If
your time is of any value, pray don't let me detain you."

Dismissed in those terms, Mr. Rayburn took Lucy's hand and withdrew. He
had just reached the door, when it was opened from the outer side. The
Lady of Kensington Gardens stood before him. In the position which he
and his daughter now occupied, their backs were toward the window. Would
she remember having seen them for a moment in the Gardens?

"Excuse me for intruding on you," she said to the landlady. "Your
servant tells me my brother-in-law called while I was out. He sometimes
leaves a message on his card."

She looked for the message, and appeared to be disappointed: there was
no writing on the card.

Mr. Rayburn lingered a little in the doorway on the chance of hearing
something more. The landlady's vigilant eyes discovered him.

"Do you know this gentleman?" she said maliciously to her lodger.

"Not that I remember."

Replying in those words, the lady looked at Mr. Rayburn for the first
time; and suddenly drew back from him.

"Yes," she said, correcting herself; "I think we met--"

Her embarrassment overpowered her; she could say no more.

Mr. Rayburn compassionately finished the sentence for her.

"We met accidentally in Kensington Gardens," he said.

She seemed to be incapable of appreciating the kindness of his motive.
After hesitating a little she addressed a proposal to him, which seemed
to show distrust of the landlady.

"Will you let me speak to you upstairs in my own rooms?" she asked.

Without waiting for a reply, she led the way to the stairs. Mr. Rayburn
and Lucy followed. They were just beginning the ascent to the first
floor, when the spiteful landlady left the lower room, and called to her
lodger over their heads: "Take care what you say to this man, Mrs. Zant!
He thinks you're mad."

Mrs. Zant turned round on the landing, and looked at him. Not a word
fell from her lips. She suffered, she feared, in silence. Something in
the sad submission of her face touched the springs of