am envelope in the other.

"I see, wanted already," said the old man, hastily catching up hat,
stick, and collecting box, and hurrying out without another word.

"Telegram, sir; and there's the change, sir."

"Eh! The notes? Thank you, Mrs Brade," said Stratton hurriedly, and
taking the packet he laid them on the table and placed a bronze letter
weight to keep them down. "That will do, thank you, Mrs Brade. Tell
your husband to fetch my luggage, and meet me at Charing Cross. He'll
take a cab, of course."

"I shall be there, too, sir, never you fear," said the porter's wife,
with a smile, as she left the room, Stratton hurriedly tearing open the
envelope the while, and reading as the door closed:

No bride's bouquet. What a shame! See to it at once.

Edie.

"Confound!" ejaculated Stratton; "and after all their promises. Here,
Mrs Brade, quick. Gone!"

He threw open the door to call the woman back, but before he could open
his lips she had returned.

"A gen--gentleman to see you, sir, on business."

"Engaged. Cannot see anyone. Look here, Mrs Brade."

"Mr Malcolm Stratton, I presume," said a heavily built man with a
florid face, greyish hair, and closely cut foreign looking hair.

"My name, sir, but I am particularly engaged this morning. If you have
business with me you must write."

This at the doorway, with Mrs Brade standing a little back on the stone
landing.

"No time for writing," said the stranger sternly. "Business too
important. Needn't wait, Mrs what's-your-name," he continued, turning
upon the woman so sharply that she began to hurry down the stairs.

"I don't care how important your mission is, sir," cried Stratton; "I
cannot give you an interview this morning. If you have anything to say
you must write. My business--"

"I know," said the man coolly: "going to be married."

Stratton took a step back, and his visitor one forward into the room,
turned, closed the outer door, and, before Stratton could recover from
his surprise, the inner door, and pointed to a chair.

"Sit down," said the man, and he took another chair and sat back in it.

"Well of all the audacious--!" began Stratton, with a half laugh; but he
was interrupted.

"Don't waste words, sir; no time. The lady will be waiting."

As he spoke Stratton saw the man's eyes rest for a moment on the
banknotes beneath the letter weight, and an undefined sensation of
uneasiness attacked him. He mastered it in an