r as
much as that.

It was about half-past six as he reached London; and though it was
impossible to call on her for some hours yet, Theophil drove straight to
Isabel's little square, shuttered and still in the early-risen London
morning. His eyes chose the second storey for hers, and picked out two
dainty windows as her rooms. He half expected to see the blind suddenly
drawn aside and her face, a sleepy flower, bloom through the curtains.

He lingered awhile, loving each individual brick of the house with his
eyes, and then, kissing his hands to the sleeping windows, he rejoined
his cab, which he had left at the street corner, shy of awaking the
hushed square with its clatter.

He gave Isabel till ten o'clock, which was perhaps hardly enough for a
young London lady's toilette and breakfast, and then called. A pleasant
housemaid answered the bell, and told him that Miss Strange was away,
and was not expected till to-morrow.

Here was a surprise. He had never even thought of that possibility.

Begging leave to write Miss Strange a note, he presently found himself
in Isabel's room. It was the same his eyes had blessed from the street.

So this was Isabel's room! So evidently hers, her very self!

Isabel pictures, Isabel wall-paper, Isabel chairs, Isabel cushions,
Isabel desk, Isabel books, Isabel bibelots, Isabel litter,--all Isabel.

And there hung an arras portiere over a doorway to the right of the
fireplace. That was her bedroom! Dare he peep in? That was her little
bed. Would the housemaid catch him if he slipped in and left a kiss on
her pillow? By the mirror was a grotesque little china monster with his
mouth full of hat-pins. He stole one for a memory. Over a chair lay a
little dressing-jacket. He took it up and kissed it.

Then he sat down to write to her. What a tidy, methodical little desk!
Everything in its place. Dear, business-like, sea-witch Isabel! Here was
her engagement book. He mustn't begin reading her letters!

After his first disappointment, he was half-glad he would have to wait
till to-morrow to see her,--for, of course, he would wait. To have thus
sat in her room was almost enough for a first meeting. It was like
stealing upon her while she slept.

Then he began a letter; but as he wrote, who was this suddenly standing
at his side? Was it Isabel? No...it was a little sobbing body quite near
to his, crying as if its heart would break...

Oh, Jenny, Jenny--God forgive me!

The spell w