pass muster now," said the
well-known voice of Mr. O'Leary, whose pleasant features began to dilate
amid the forest of red hair he was disguised in. "But I see you are
engaged," said he, with a sly look at Miss Bingham, whom he had not yet
recognised; "so I must contrive to hide myself elsewhere, I suppose."

"It is Miss Bingham," said I, "who has been kind enough to come here
with her maid, to bring me some flowers. Pray present my respectful
compliments to Mrs. Bingham, and say how deeply I feel her most kind
attention."

Emily rose at the instant, and recovering her self-possession at once,
said--

"You forget, Mr. Lorrequer, it is a secret from whom the flowers came;
at least mamma hoped to place them in your vases without you knowing.
So, pray, don't speak of it--and I'm sure Mr. O'Leary will not tell."

If Mr. O'Leary heard one word of this artful speech, I know not, but he
certainly paid no attention to it, nor the speaker, who left the room
without his appearing aware of it.

"Now that she is gone--for which heaven be praised," said I to myself;
"let me see what this fellow can mean."

As I turned from the door, I could scarcely avoid laughing aloud at the
figure before me. He stood opposite a large mirror, his hat on one side
of his head, one arm in his breast, and the other extended, leaning upon
his stick; a look of as much ferocity as such features could accomplish
had been assumed, and his whole attitude was a kind of caricature of a
melo-dramatic hero in a German drama.

"Why, O'Leary, what is all this?"

"Hush, hush," said he, in a terrified whisper--"never mention that name
again, till we are over the frontier."

"But, man, explain--what do you mean?"

"Can't you guess," said he drily.

"Impossible; unless the affair at the saloon has induced you to take this
disguise, I cannot conceive the reason."

"Nothing farther from it, my dear friend; much worse than that."

"Out with it, then, at once."

"She's come--she's here--in this very house--No. 29, above the entre
sol."

"Who is here, in No. 29, above the entre sol?"

"Who, but Mrs. O'Leary herself. I was near saying bad luck to her."

"And does she know you are here?"

"That is what I can't exactly say," said he, "but she has had the Livre
des Voyageurs brought up to her room, and has been making rather
unpleasant inquiries for the proprietor of certain hieroglyphics
beginning with O, which have given me great alarm--the more,