of papa's agency could call up, and I look round hastily to see if that gentleman is harassing his rear.
"You are wanted directly, Miss Nell; Mr. Vasher is here."
"What has that to do with me?" I ask, reddening, as I remember the countless occasions on which Mr. Simpkins has seen us together.
"Mrs. Vasher is dying, Miss Nell;" and may he be forgiven, but a look of positive satisfaction overspreads his face as he makes the announcement.
"And what has that to do with me?" I ask again.
"Oh! nothing, miss, nothing!"
"I don't believe a word of it," I say, promptly. "What is she dying of?"
"Something in her inside, Miss Nell—her'art, I think."
"Very well; I am coming. I don't believe one word of it," I say to myself, as I follow Simpkins towards the house. "It's only another of her tricks. Besides, if she were, why should she want to see me, of all people?"
In the drawing-room I find Paul Vasher alone.
"You will come?" he says, meeting me half-way across the room. "Deeply as she has wronged you, you will not refuse her?"
In his voice there is some strange, new feeling. Is it remorse?
"What is the matter with her?"
"Heart disease. Her mother died in just such an attack as the one I left her in just now. The doctor said she might die at any moment."
"Are you sure?" I ask, sceptically. "People may have heart disease for a very long while before they die of it. And I can't understand why she should wish to see me."
Perhaps she wants you to forgive her," he says, in a low voice.
