"'Forgive me if I express a wish to trace in
what direction your gentle thoughts could have
been floating when you made the mistake.'

"What infernal nonsense! It isn't correct
English, hang me if it is!"

"'It will give me infinite pleasure to accept your
hospitality on Tuesday next. I well know Colonel
Chutney's peculiarities.'

"Colonel Chut-ney's pe-cu-liarities. Ha! my
peculiarities! What infernal impudence! Why,
what peculiarities have I, I should like to
know?"

"'Your secret is perfectly safe.'
"Is it? Egad! we'll worm it out, somehow."

"' Yours, as ever, most truly,

"'F. SAMPERTON.'"

"Pray, Colonel Chutney," began his wife——

"Confound it, Mrs. Chutney! What are
my peculiarities? Is this the way a man is to
be discussed by the wife of his bosom, to— a
man—a man about town?"

"Ah!" put in. Miss Bousfield, still
triumphantly, "there is a pair of them! I wash
my hands of them. I never did expect
gratitude! But I was fool enough to believe that
creatures without any stake in the game would
at least play fair."

"What have we to be grateful for?" asked
Mary, composedly. "What have you ever done
but look on, and prophesy evil, while strangers
held out the rope to pull us struggling orphans
through the surf of life?" To Colonel Chutney:
"I had nothing to do with that note—my
business was my own, and I do not choose to reveal
it—let me go!" Bursting into tears: "I'll
advertise to-morrow for a situation as governess
to go abroad, to the colonies, or Kamschatka,
and never come back again!"

"Stop a bit, Miss Holden," said Captain
Peake, who had been edging closer to her.

"How dare you speak to me in that manner,
you penniless chit?" cried her enraged aunt.
"Do not you know I can cut you off with a
shilling?"

"I may be penniless, Miss Bousfield,"
replied the niece, "but I am a capitalist for all
that. I have my share of the great original
capital—youth, health, industry, and patience.
If I can provide for my own wants, I am as
independent and as rich as Crœsus."

Captain Peake here made a timid exclamation,
and, asking Mary to listen to him, drew her
aside, and proceeded to whisper insinuatingly
into her ear.

"Where is all this to end?" asked Chutney,
observing this, and ceasing to pace the room in
his fury. "What devilish schemes may not
now be plotting under my very nose! But I will
be blind no longer. No, by Jove, no! Your
keys, madam! I'll see the contents of that
davenport!"

Mrs. Chutney, still keeping an air of
indifference, handed over her keys.

Colonel Chutney opened the davenport, and
pulled out account-books, notes, papers, a
ready reckoner, some half-finished embroidery,
Johnson's Dictionary, receipts for various
curries. "Ha! butcher's book—one fortnight
unpaid! Baker's—a week owing! Robbed
and betrayed, both. Madame Friselle's
account unpaid!" He struck his hand
vehemently on one side of the davenport,
whereupon a secret drawer flew open. "Another
paper," cried the distracted husband. "A
man's writing! What is this?"—and he read:

"'London, May 18th, 186—
"'Two months after date I promise to pay to the
order of Thomas Bousfield, Esq., Fifty Pounds, for
value received.

"'FREDERIC SAMPERTON.'"

"What is this? How came it here?"

"I have done with explanations," said Mrs.
Chutney; "but I will say I was not aware that
such a drawer as that existed."

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Mary, "how
could the bill have got there? Has dear Loo
paid and concealed it?"

"Let me see," said Miss Bousfield, putting
on her glasses and compressing her lips. "This
is a strange business! A promissory note to
Tom Bousfield, signed by——"

"Sir Frederic Samperton," announced the
page, throwing open the door.

The fresh and smiling baronet appeared, like
the genius of order and good breeding, to the
conflicting assemblage.

"I am particularly anxious to assure you,"
addressing himself first to Mrs. Chutney,
"that Miss Holden's visit of yesterday was
simply——"

"Sir," interrupted Colonel Chutney, solemnly,
and holding Sir Frederic's letter towards him,
"this is no time for trifling. A question or
two, if you please," striking open the epistle.
"Is that your handwriting?"

"It looks like it."

"And here, sir, did you, or did you not,
address this note to my wife?"

"I did, Colonel Chutney."

"Is that your signature?" continued the
colonel, showing him Tom Bousfleld's
promissory note.

"That is a question I decline to answer,"
cried the astonished baronet. " But where did
you find it? I have been hunting for it
incessantly for the last four days."

"Lost or found, I suspect it to be a forgery,"
said Chutney. "A drop or two more or less
of disgrace is of small importance in such a
bumper as this," said the colonel, bitterly.

"Really, Chutney," began Samperton, in a
tone of severe common sense, "you must excuse
me, but I am a good deal surprised to see a man
of your standing and knowledge of the world
so knocked over by a simple contretemps.
Mrs. Chutney very kindly invites me to dinner,
at the same time she writes to Deal, Board,
and Co. about some furniture, and puts the
notes in wrong envelopes. I get Deal's billet,
and write immediately to know what assistance
I am expected to render in the case of your