nk, Jane, you ought to ask him
his name." Jane did ask him his name, and came back immediately,
announcing Mr Levy.

This occurred immediately after the return of Mr John Vavasor from
Westmoreland. He had reached home late on the preceding evening, and
at the moment of Mr Levy's call was in his dressing-room.

Alice got up to receive her visitor, and at once understood the tone
of her maid's voice. Mr Levy was certainly not a gentleman of the
sort to which she had been most accustomed. He was a little dark man,
with sharp eyes, set very near to each other in his head, with a
beaked nose, thick at the bridge, and a black moustache, but no other
beard. Alice did not at all like the look of Mr Levy, but she stood
up to receive him, made him a little bow, and asked him to sit down.

"Is papa dressed yet?" Alice asked the servant.

"Well, miss, I don't think he is,--not to say dressed."

Alice had thought it might be as well that Mr Levy should know that
there was a gentleman in the house with her.

"I've called about a little bit of business, miss," said Mr Levy,
when they were alone. "Nothing as you need disturb yourself about.
You'll find it all square, I think." Then he took a case out of his
breast-pocket, and produced a note, which he handed to her. Alice
took the note, and saw immediately that it was addressed to her by
her cousin George. "Yes, Mr George Vavasor," said Mr Levy. "I dare
say you never saw me before, miss?"

"No, sir; I think not," said Alice.

"I am your cousin's clerk."

"Oh, you're Mr Vavasor's clerk. I'll read his letter, if you please,
sir."

"If you please, miss."

George Vavasor's letter to his cousin was as follows:--

DEAR ALICE,

After what passed between us when I last saw you I thought
that on my return from Westmoreland I should learn that
you had paid in at my bankers' the money that I require.
But I find that this is not so; and of course I excuse
you, because women so seldom know when or how to do that
which business demands of them. You have, no doubt, heard
the injustice which my grandfather has done me, and will
probably feel as indignant as I do. I only mention this
now, because the nature of his will makes it more than
ever incumbent on you that you should be true to your
pledge to me.

Till there shall be some ground for a better understanding
between us,--and this I do not doubt will come,--I think
it wiser not to