"Mrs. Ellsworth likes me to go to Archdeacon and Mrs. Smith's
because--I'm afraid because she thinks they're 'swells.' Mrs. Smith has a
duke for an uncle! Mrs. Ellsworth said 'yes' at once, when I asked, and
gave me her key and permission to stop out till half-past ten, though
everyone in the house is supposed to be in bed by ten. She's almost sure
to be in bed herself, but if she gets interested in one of the books I
brought from the library to-day, it's possible she may be sitting up to
read, and to ask about my evening.

"Our bedrooms are on the ground floor at the back of an addition to the
house. What if she should hear the latchkey (it's old fashioned and hard
to work), and what if she should come to the swing door at the end of the
corridor where she'd see you with me? What would you say or do?"

"H'm! It would be awkward. But--isn't there a _young_ Smith in your
Archdeacon's family?"

"There is one, but I haven't seen him since I was a little girl. He's a
sailor. He's away now on an Arctic expedition."

"Then it wasn't _that_ Mr. Smith you came to meet at the Savoy?"

"No. They're not related." As Annesley returned in thought to the Mr.
Smith who had thrown her over, she took from her bodice the white rose
which was to have identified her for him, and found it a place in the
vase with the other white roses. She had a special reason for doing this.
The real Mr. Smith, if by any chance he appeared now, would be a
complication. Without the rose he could not claim her acquaintance.