ercely at his moustache.

"Well, you see, it was _so_ difficult not to, meeting at the
dressmaker's. I can't describe to you how awkwardly I was placed. I
have felt more uncomfortable to-day than I have done for years. She
practically took me by storm, and was so kind and nice it quite touched
me. I have gone back to my old opinion of her. She may be a little
hot-tempered, but means well."

"It is a thousand pities. I hoped you had done with her for good. I
don't like you going to the Savoy with her dressed up in that gaudy
fashion. She looks quite remarkable and unladylike. Besides that
fellow Quinton is always at her heels, and I have heard some strange
things about him. But then he is just the style of man people like the
widow affect."

"What have you heard about Mr. Quinton?"

"Oh, never mind; nothing for your ears, my dear."

"Here is the post," says Eleanor with a sigh of relief. She is glad
for the introduction of letters to turn the subject.

"Only one for me," turning the envelope over. "I really dare not open
it."

"Why? Who is it from?"

"That insatiable Madame Faustine. It will be the bill for my black
tea-gown and the blue silk blouse that you admired so much, Philip,
dear. Now you may have this letter, and pay it yourself if you are
awfully good," laughing merrily. "I will give you the number of
sovereigns in kisses."

She looked so pretty as she handed it to him that he tore it open
leniently, but no bill fell out.

The letter ran thus:

MADAME,--I am writing to ask you a personal favour, with regard to Mrs.
Mounteagle, who kindly introduced me to you. I was prevented
mentioning it to you to-day by the presence of my assistant. Could you
induce Mrs. Mounteagle to remit me a portion, at least, of her
long-outstanding account? She has not been lately to our
establishment, and I cannot get my letters answered. I thought perhaps
you might use your influence, and oblige very greatly.

Yours respectfully,
LOUISE FAUSTINE.

"A thousand devils!" cried Philip, crushing the letter in his hand.
"She lied to me--_you_ lied to me!"

CHAPTER XI.

IF WE ONLY KNOW! IF WE ONLY KNOW!

Eleanor's face is seared with weeping.

For the last three days Philip has hardly spoken to her.

She has stayed indoors and avoided Giddy, but now a message comes from
the widow commenting on her non-appearance.

She pulls forward a sheet of paper, bites the end of her quill, and
cr