"I must have made some mistake. Still we will find out Mr. Ascott's
number, and inquire."

No, there was no mistake. Mr. Ascott Leaf had lodged there for three
months, but had given up his rooms that very morning.

"Where had he gone to?"

The servant--a London lodging house servant all over--didn't know;
but she fetched the landlady, who was after the same pattern of the
dozen London landladies with whom Hilary had that day made
acquaintance, only a little more Cockney, smirking, dirty, and
tawdrily fine.

"Yes, Mr. Leaf had gone, and he hadn't left no address. Young College
gentlemen often found it convenient to leave no address. P'raps he
would if he'd known there would be a young lady a calling to see
him."

"I am Mr. Leaf's aunt," said Hilary, turning as hot as fire.

"Oh, in-deed," was the answer, with civil incredulousness.

But the woman was sharp of perception--as often-cheated London
landladies learn to be. After looking keenly at mistress and maid,
she changed her tone; nay, even launched out into praises of her late
lodger: what a pleasant gentleman he was; what good company he kept,
and how he had promised to recommend her apartments to his friends.

"And as for the little some'at of rent, Miss--tell him it makes no