e one in the house, then!"

"The Dowager Lady Kirton's here, sir. One of her sons also--Captain
Kirton; but he is confined to his room."

"Then I would rather not go in," said the stranger quickly. "I'm very
disappointed to have come all this way and not find Lord Hartledon."

"Can I forward any letter for you, sir? If you'd like to intrust one to
me, I'll send it as soon as we know of any certain address."

"No--no, I think not," said the stranger, musingly. "There might be
danger," he muttered to himself, but Hedges caught the words.

He stood swaying the umbrella-handle about, looking down at it, as if
that would assist his decision. Then he looked at Hedges.

"My business with Lord Hartledon is quite private, and I would rather not
write. I'll wait until he is back in England: and see him then."

"What name, sir?" asked Hedges, as the stranger turned away.

"I would prefer not to leave my name," was the candid answer. "Good
evening."

He walked briskly down the avenue, and Hedges stood looking after him,
slightly puzzled in his mind.

"I don't believe it's a creditor; that I don't. He looks like a parson to
me. But it's some trouble though, if it's not debt. 'Danger' was the
word: 'there might be danger.' Danger in writing, he meant. Any way, I'm
glad he didn't go in to that ferreting old dowager. And whatever it may
be, his lordship's able to pay it now."

CHAPTER XIX.

A CHANCE MEETING.

Some few weeks went by. On a fine June morning Lord and Lady Hartledon
were breakfasting at their hotel in the Rue Rivoli. She was listlessly
playing with her cup; he was glancing over _Galignani's_.

"Maude," he suddenly exclaimed, "the fountains are to play on Sunday at
Versailles. Will you go to see them?"

"I am tired of sight-seeing, and tired of Paris too," was Lady
Hartledon's answer, spoken with apathy.

"Are you?" he returned, with animation, as though not sorry to hear the
avowal. "Then we won't stay in Paris any longer. When shall we leave?"

"Are the letters not late this morning?" she asked, allowing the question
to pass.

Lord Hartledon glanced at the clock. "Very late: and we are late also.
Are you expecting any in particular?"

"I don't know. This chocolate is cold."

"That is easily remedied," said he, rising to ring the bell. "They can
bring in some fresh."

"And keep us waiting half-an-hour!" she grumbled.

"The hotel is crammed up to the mansarde," said good-natured Lord
Hart