was sick and tired of the incessant secrecy that she imposed on all
my visits, and on the few letters I sent her. I wrote to her at the
library to ask her if she could see me the following Monday at six.
She answered yes, and I was in the seventh heaven of delight. I was
infatuated with her: in spite of the mystery, I thought then--in
consequence of it, I see now. No; it was the woman herself I loved.
The mystery troubled me, maddened me. Why did chance put me in its
track?'

'You discovered it, then?' I cried.

'I fear so,' he answered. 'You can judge for yourself.'

'When Monday came round I went to lunch with my uncle, and about
four o'clock found myself in the Marylebone Road. My uncle, you
know, lives in Regent's Park. I wanted to get to Piccadilly, and
took a short cut through a lot of shabby little streets. Suddenly I
saw in front of me Lady Alroy, deeply veiled and walking very fast.
On coming to the last house in the street, she went up the steps,
took out a latch-key, and let herself in. "Here is the mystery," I
said to myself; and I hurried on and examined the house. It seemed
a sort of place for letting lodgings. On the doorstep lay her
handkerchief, which she had dropped. I picked it up and put it in
my pocket. Then I began to consider what I should do. I came to
the conclusion that I had no right to spy on her, and I drove down
to the club. At six I called to see her. She was lying on a sofa,
in a tea-gown of silver tissue looped up by some strange moonstones
that she always wore. She was looking quite lovely. "I am so glad
to see you," she said; "I have not been out all day." I stared at
her in amazement, and pulling the handkerchief out of my pocket,