than ardent
love usually employs. "It is clear to me now," wrote he, "from what
I witnessed to-day, that neither you nor I ever understood this
girl aright. She has a temper of her own, and an obstinacy perfectly
invincible. Acting on the dictate of what she fancies to be her
conscience, she is quite capable of going to any extreme, and I have the
strongest doubt that she is one to be moved by affection or deterred
by fear." After a little more of this eulogistic strain, he wound up by
repeating his former generous proposal He adroitly pointed out that
it was in the interest of only such a patron he could ever dream of so
great a sacrifice; and then in that half-jocular way in which he often
attained to all the real and businesslike elements of a project,
he added, "Say ten thousand, and the 'match' will come off,--a very
moderate stake, if you only remember the 'forfeit.'"

In a brief postscript he mentioned the discovery of the ancient document
found at the cottage, with, as he said, "some curious papers about the
Conway family. These I have duly sealed up in the box, and retain in my
possession, although Miss K. has evidently an eye upon them.

"Write fully and explicitly whatever you mean to do; should you,
however, fully agree to what I propose, telegraph back to

"Yours, ever faithfully,

"Simpson Hankes.

"They have come to tell me she is packing up her things and has sent a
twenty-pound note to be changed."

CHAPTER XVIII. DOWNING STREET.

If our story had a hero--which it has not--that hero would be Mr.
Davenport Dunn himself, and we might, consequently, feel certain
compunctious scruples as to the length of time that has elapsed since we
last saw him. When we parted, however, we took care to remind our reader
that we left him in good company, and surely such a fact ought to allay
all apprehensions on his behalf.

Months have rolled over; the London season has passed; Parliament has
but a few days to run; the wearied speakers are longing to loiter along
green lanes, or be touring or water-curing it in Germany; cities are all
but deserted, and town-houses have that dusty, ill-cared-for air that
reminds one of an estate in Chancery, or a half-pay lieutenant. Why is
it, then, that Mr. Dunn's residence in Merrion Square wears a look of
unusual trimness? Fresh paint--that hypocrisy of architecture--has done
its utmost; the hall door is a marvel of mock oak, as are the columns
of spurious marble; the