, and, above all, the
pseudo-maternal way in which she spoke of Enid, irritated Hubert almost
beyond endurance.

He went back to London on the following day, promising to return to
Beechfield Hall before long. For some reason or other he felt eager to
get away--the air of the place seemed to excite his sensibilities
unduly, he told himself. It struck him afterwards that Enid looked very
pale and downcast when she bade him good-bye. He took his leave of her
hurriedly, feeling as if he did not like to look her full in the face.
He was afraid, that if he looked, he would be only too sure of what he
guessed--that her eyes were full of tears. He was almost glad that a
speedy return to London was incumbent upon him. He had next day to
superintend the rehearsal of his new play, which was shortly to be
produced at one of the smaller theatres; and as soon as he reached his
apartments he was immersed in business of every kind.

The next morning's rehearsal was followed by luncheon with friends, and
attendance at a _matinee_ given for the benefit of the widow and
children of an actor--a performance at which Hubert thought it well to
be present, although he invariably bemoaned the loss of time. The piece
was not over until six o'clock, and he amused himself afterwards by
going behind the scenes, and chatting with some of his acquaintances
among actors, actresses, managers, and critics. Thus it was nearly seven
before he issued from the theatre, in a street off the Strand, and the
day was already drawing to a close. The lamps were lighted and a fog was
gathering, through which their beams assumed a yellow and unnatural
intensity. Hubert stood on the edge of the pavement, leisurely drawing
on his gloves and looking out for a hansom, contrasting meanwhile the
glories of the Strand with those of the autumn woods in Hampshire, when
his attention was arrested by the sound of a woman's voice.

"If you please, Mr. Lepel, may I speak to you?"

He turned round hastily, and, after a moment's hesitation, recognised
the girl who had addressed him as a young actress whom he had lately
come to know. She had been playing a very small part in the comedy
which he had just seen. He vaguely remembered having heard her
name--she was known on the bills as Miss Cynthia West.

CHAPTER XIII.

Hubert raised his hat courteously.

"Good evening, Miss West. Of course you may speak to me!" he said. "Can
I do anything for you?"

"Yes," answered