on the soft cushions, and
inhaled the warm smell of leather. They started, and soon the pelting
rain beat harmlessly against the windows. Aristide looked out at the
streaming streets, and, hugging himself comfortably, thanked Providence
and Mr. Smith. But who was Mr. Smith? _Tiens_, thought he, there were
two little Miss Smiths at the academy; he had pitied them because they
had chilblains, freckles, and perpetual colds in their heads; possibly
this was their kind papa. But, after all, what did it matter whose papa
he was? He was expecting him. He had sent the carriage for him.
Evidently a well-bred and attentive person. And _tiens!_ there was even
a hot-water can on the floor of the brougham. "He thinks of everything,
that man," said Aristide. "I feel I am going to like him."

The carriage stopped at a house in Hampstead, standing, as far as he
could see in the darkness, in its own grounds. The footman opened the
door for him to alight and escorted him up the front steps. A neat
parlour-maid received him in a comfortably-furnished hall and took his
hat and greatcoat and magnificent bouquet.

"Mr. Smith hasn't come back yet from the City, sir; but Miss Christabel
is in the drawing-room."

"Ah!" said Aristide. "Please give me back my bouquet."

The maid showed him into the drawing-room. A pretty girl of
three-and-twenty rose from a fender-stool and advanced smilingly to meet
him.

"Good afternoon, M. le Baron. I was wondering whether Thomas would spot
you. I'm so glad he did. You see, neither father nor I could give him
any description, for we had never seen you."

This fitted in with his theory. But why Baron? After all, why not? The
English loved titles.

"He seems to be an intelligent fellow, mademoiselle."

There was a span of silence. The girl looked at the bouquet, then at
Aristide, who looked at the girl, then at the bouquet, then at the girl
again.

"Mademoiselle," said he, "will you deign to accept these flowers as a
token of my respectful homage?"

Miss Christabel took the flowers and blushed prettily. She had dark hair
and eyes and a fascinating, upturned little nose, and the kindest
little mouth in the world.

"An Englishman would not have thought of that," she said.

Aristide smiled in his roguish way and raised a deprecating hand.

"Oh, yes, he would. But he would not have had--what you call the cheek
to do it."

Miss Christabel laughed merrily, invited him to a seat by the fire,
and com