Sir Charles thought this very odd, and felt a little uneasy about it.
All to Portman Square he puzzled over it; and at last he was driven to
the conclusion that Miss Somerset had been weak enough to tell some
person, male or female, of the coming interview, and so somebody had
called there--doubtless to ask him a favor.

At five o'clock he reached Portman Square, and was about to enter, as a
matter of course; but the footman stopped him. "I beg pardon, Sir
Charles," said the man, looking pale and agitated; "but I have strict
orders. My young lady is very ill."

"Ill! Let me go to her this instant."

"I daren't, Sir Charles, I daren't. I know you are a gentleman; pray
don't lose me my place. You would never get to see her. We none of us
know the rights, but there's something up. Sorry to say it, Sir
Charles, but we have strict orders not to admit you. Haven't you the
admiral's letter, sir?"

"No; what letter?"

"He has been after you, sir; and when he came back he sent Roger off to
your house with a letter."

A cold chill began to run down Sir Charles Bassett. He hailed a passing
hansom, and drove to his own house to get the admiral's letter; and as
he went he asked himself, with chill misgivings, what on earth had
happened.