endon Hall of itself had
certainly no special attractions at the end of November. But Marion
Fay was on his mind, and he had arranged his scheme. His scheme, as
far as he knew, would be as practicable on a Tuesday as on a Monday;
but he was impatient, and for the nonce preferred Marion Fay, whom he
probably would not find, to the foxes which would certainly be found
in the neighbourhood of Lilford Cross Roads.

It was not much of a scheme after all. He would go over to Paradise
Row, and call on Mrs. Roden. He would then explain to her what had
taken place between him and George, and leave some sort of apology
for the offended Post Office clerk. Then he would ask them both to
come over and dine with him on some day before his sister's return.
In what way Marion Fay's name might be introduced, or how she might
be brought into the arrangement, he must leave to the chapter of
accidents. On the Monday he left home at about two o'clock, and
making a roundabout journey _via_ Baker Street, King's Cross, and
Islington, went down to Holloway by an omnibus. He had become
somewhat abashed and perplexed as to his visits to Paradise Row,
having learned to entertain a notion that some of the people there
looked at him. It was hard, he thought, that if he had a friend in
that or any other street he should not be allowed to visit his friend
without creating attention. He was not aware of the special existence
of Mrs. Demijohn, or of Clara, or of Mrs. Duffer, nor did he know
from what window exactly the eyes of curious inhabitants were fixed
upon him. But he was conscious that an interest was taken in his
comings and goings. As long as his acquaintance in the street was
confined to the inhabitants of No. 11, this did not very much
signify. Though the neighbours should become aware that he was
intimate with Mrs. Roden or her son, he need not care much about
that. But if he should succeed in adding Marion Fay to the number of
his Holloway friends, then he thought inquisitive eyes might be an
annoyance. It was on this account that he made his way down in an
omnibus, and felt that there was something almost of hypocrisy in the
soft, unpretending, and almost skulking manner in which he crept up
Paradise Row, as though his walking there was really of no moment
to any one. As he looked round after knocking at Mrs. Roden's door,
he saw the figure of Clara Demijohn standing a little back from the
parlour window of the house opposite.

"Mrs. Ro