"You must come together soon. He will be glad to have made your
acquaintance, and I think I may predict that you will be glad to have
made his. You have not been long established in London, I suppose, Mr.
Obenreizer?"

"It is only now that I have undertaken this agency."

"Mademoiselle your niece--is--not married?"

"Not married."

George Vendale glanced about him, as if for any tokens of her.

"She has been in London?"

"She _is_ in London."

"When, and where, might I have the honour of recalling myself to her
remembrance?"

Mr. Obenreizer, discarding his film and touching his visitor's elbows as
before, said lightly: "Come up-stairs."

Fluttered enough by the suddenness with which the interview he had sought
was coming upon him after all, George Vendale followed up-stairs. In a
room over the chamber he had just quitted--a room also Swiss-appointed--a
young lady sat near one of three windows, working at an embroidery-frame;
and an older lady sat with her face turned close to another white-tiled
stove (though it was summer, and the stove was not lighted), cleaning
gloves. The young lady wore an unusual quantity of fair bright hair,