Do
you know anybody that answers to the description?”

“No!” replied the girl, though she recognised it at once as being meant
for Mr. Milliken. “Well! if you don’t know ’im now, you will before long, but it’s my
belief you’ve met. And mark my words! you and ’e will be closely
connected in life! I shouldn’t wonder if ’e turns out to be your future
’usband!”

“O! nonsense!” exclaimed Harriet, trying to speak lightly, “I’m not
going to marry anybody, thank you, Madame Gobelli, unless it’s one of
the princes you promised to introduce me to.”

“O! princes are all rubbish!” replied the Baroness, forgetting her
former assertions, “they’ve none of them got any money, and yours
wouldn’t go far enough for ’em. _They_ want a gal with something like
five thousand a year at ’er back. I’d rather ’ave an Englishman any
day, than a dirty little German prince!”

But Harriet Brandt was not the sort of woman to be forced into an
intimacy against her will. Born under an hereditary curse, as she
undoubtedly had been, and gifted with the fatal propensity of injuring,
rather than benefiting those whom she took a fancy for, she was an
epicure in her taste for her fellow creatures, and would not have
permitted Mr. Alexander Milliken to take a liberty with her, had he
been the last man left upon the earth. She avoided his society as much
as it was possible to do, without being rude to her hostess, but as
the Baroness was continually calling her to her side, it was difficult
to do so. Meanwhile the days went on very differently from what she
had anticipated when coming to the Red House. Bobby was languid and
indifferent to everything but hanging about the place where she might
have located herself--sitting on the sofa beside her, with his heavy
head on her shoulder, and his weak arm wound about her waist. Miss
Wynward feared he must have contracted some species of malaria at
the seaside, and Harriet could see for herself that the lad was much
altered from the time when they first met--the Baroness alone, either
from ignorance or obstinacy, declaring that nothing ailed him but
laziness, and she would give him the stick if he didn’t exert himself
more. Sometimes Harriet took him out with her--for a drive into the
country, or to a concert or _matinée_ in London, but what was that
compared to the entertainment of Royalty and Aristocracy, which she
had been promised. And she had not heard a word from Captain Pullen,
though her first letter of appeal had been succeeded by two or three
more. Such a rebuff would have driven another girl to despondency
or tears, but that was not the effect it had on Harriet Brandt. If
you throw a bone to a tigress and then try to take it away, she does
not weep--she fights for her prey. Harriet Brandt, deprived of the
flatteries and attentions of Captain Pullen, did not weep either, but
set her pretty teeth together, and determined in her own mind that
if she were to give him up she would know the reason why. She was
reckless--she did not care what she did to obtain it, but she would
learn the truth of his defalcation if she travelled down to Aldershot
for the purpose. She was in this mood one day, when the maidservant who
answered the door came to tell her that a lady was in the drawing-room,
and desired to see her. The Baroness had gone out that afternoon and
taken Mr. Milliken with her, so that Harriet was alone. She eagerly
demanded the name of her visitor. “The lady didn’t give me her name,” replied the servant, “but she asked
if Miss Brandt was at home, plain enough!”

“Go back and say that I will be with her in a minute!” said Harriet. She had decided in her own mind that the stranger must be Margaret
Pullen, bringing her, doubtless, some news of her brother-in-law. She
only stayed to smoothe her hair, which was rather disordered from Bobby
laying his head on her shoulder, before, with a heightened colour, she
entered the drawing-room. What was her surprise to encounter, instead
of Mrs. Pullen, Miss Leyton--Miss Leyton, who had been so reserved and
proud with her at Heyst, and who even though she had sought her out at
the Red House, looked as reserved and proud as before. Harriet advanced
with an extended hand, but Elinor Leyton did not appear to see the
action, as she coldly bowed and sank into her chair again. Harriet was rather taken aback, but managed to stammer out,

“I am very glad to see you, Miss Leyton! I thought you and Mrs. Pullen
had forgotten all about me since leaving Heyst.”

“We had not forgotten, Miss Brandt,” replied Elinor, “but we had a
great deal of trouble to encounter in the death of Mrs. Pullen’s
baby, and that put everything else for a while out of our minds. But--but--lately, we have had reason to remember your existence more
forcibly than before!”

She spoke slowly and with an evident effort. She was as agitated as it
was in her nature to be the while, but she did not show it outwardly. Elinor Leyton had at all times the most perfect command over herself. She was dressed on the present occasion with the utmost neatness and
propriety, though she had left her home labouring under a discovery
which had pierced her to the very soul. She was a woman who would have
died upon the scaffold, without evincing the least fear. “Reason to remember my existence!” echoed Harriet, “I do not understand
you.”

“I think you soon will!” said Elinor, as she took three letters from
her hand-bag and laid them on the table, “I do not think you can fail
to recognise that handwriting, Miss Brandt!”

Harriet stooped down and read the address upon the envelopes. They were
her own letters to Captain Pullen. “How did you get these?” she demanded angrily, as she seized them in
her hand. “Is thieving one of your proclivities, Miss Leyton?”

“No, Miss Brandt, thieving, as you elegantly put it, is not one of my
proclivities! But Captain Pullen has been staying in the house of my
father, Lord Walthamstowe, at Richmond, and left those letters behind
him--thrown in the empty grate just as they are, a proof of how much he
valued them! One of the housemaids, whilst setting his room in order
after his departure, found them and brought them to me. So I determined
that I would return them to your hands myself!”

“And have you read them?” demanded Harriet. “I have read them! I considered it my duty!”

“Your duty!” replied the other, scornfully, “what duty is there in a
mean, dishonourable action like that? What right had you to interfere
with things that don’t belong to you? These letters concern myself and
Captain Pullen alone!”

“I deny that, Miss Brandt! They concern me quite as much, if not
more--Captain Pullen is my affianced husband! We are to be married in
the spring!”

“I don’t believe it!” cried Harriet, starting to her feet. “A woman who
would read letters not addressed to her, would say anything! You are
_not_ engaged to be married to Captain Pullen!”

“Indeed!