to avoid brushing against the muddy wheel, lest he should tarnish the
glories of his light-coloured trousers. Monsieur D'Arblet was more than
usually particular about his appearance this morning. He said to himself,
with a chuckle, as he was driven west-ward, that he was on his way to win
a bride, and a rich bride, too. It behoved him to be careful of his outer
man on such an occasion.

He had heard of Mr. Harlowe's death and of his grand-daughter's good
fortune when he was at Constantinople, for he had friends in London who
kept him _au courant_ with the gossip of society, and he had straightway
made his preparations to return to England. He had not hurried himself,
however, for what he had not heard of was that clause in the old man's
will which made his grand-daughter's marriage within two months the _sine
quâ non_ of her inheriting his fortune. Such an idea as that had never
come into Monsieur D'Arblet's head; he had no conception but that he
should be in plenty of time.

When he got to the house in Princes Gate he found it shut up. This,
however, did not disconcert him, it was no more than he expected. After
a considerable amount of ringing at both bells, there was a grating sound
within as of the unfastening of bolts and chains, and an elderly woman,
evidently fresh from her labours over the scouring of the kitchen grate,
appeared at the door, opening it just a couple of inches, as though she
dreaded the invasion of a gang of housebreakers.

"Will you please tell me where Mrs. Romer is now living?"

The woman grinned. "She has been living at Walpole Lodge, at Kew--Lady
Kynaston's, sir."