you, I received your instructions to report, by letter, the
result of my conversations on religion with Mr. Romayne.

As events have turned out, it is needless to occupy your time by
dwelling at any length on this subject, in writing. Mr. Romayne

has been strongly impressed by the excellent books which I have
introduced to his notice. He raises certain objections, which I

have done my best to meet; and he promises to consider my
arguments with his closest attention, in the time to come. I am

happier in the hope of restoring his mental tranquillity--in
other and worthier words, of effecting his conversion--than I can

tell you in any words of mine. I respect and admire, I may almost
say I love, Mr. Romayne.

The details which are wanting in this brief report of progress I
shall have the privilege of personally relating to you. Mr.

Romayne no longer desires to conceal himself from his friends. He
received a letter this morning which has changed all his plans,

and has decided him on immediately returning to London. I am not
acquainted with the contents of the letter, or with the name of

the writer; but I am pleased, for Mr. Romayne's sake, to see that
the reading of it has made him happy.

By to-morrow evening I hope to present my respects to you.
II.

_Mr. Bitrake to Father Benwell._
SIR--The inquiries which I have instituted at your request have

proved successful in one respect.
I am in a position to tell you that events in Mr. Winterfield's

life have unquestionably connected him with the young lady named
Miss Stella Eyrecourt.

The attendant circumstances, however, are not so easy to
discover. Judging by the careful report of the person whom I

employ, there must have been serious reasons, in this case, for
keeping facts secret and witnesses out of the way. I mention

this, not to discourage you, but to prepare you for delays that
may occur on our way to discovery.

Be pleased to preserve your confidence in me, and to give me
time--and I answer for the result.

BOOK THE SECOND.
CHAPTER I.

THE SANDWICH DANCE.
A FINE spring, after a winter of unusualseverity, promised well

for the prospects of the London season.
Among the social entertainments of the time, general curiosity

was excited, in the little sphere which absurdly describes itself
under the big name of Society, by the announcement of a party to

be given by Lady Loring, bearing the quaint title of a Sandwich
Dance. The invitations were issued at an unusually early hour;

and it was understood that nothing so solid and so commonplace as
the customary supper was to be offered to the guests. In a word,

Lady Loring's ball was designed as a bold protest against late
hours and heavy midnight meals. The younger people were all in

favor of the proposed reform. Their elders declined to give an
opinion beforehand.

In the small inner circle of Lady Loring's most intimate friends,
it was whispered that an innovation in the matter of refreshments

was contemplated, which would put the tolerant principles of the
guests to a severe test. Miss Notman, the housekeeper, politely

threatening retirement on a small annuity, since the memorable
affair of the oyster-omelet, decided on carrying out her design

when she heard that there was to be no supper. "My attachment to
the family can bear a great deal," she said. "But when Lady

Loring deliberately gives a ball, without a supper, I must hide
my head somewhere--and it had better be out of the house!" Taking

Miss Notman as representative of a class, the reception of the
coming experiment looked, to say the least of it, doubtful.

On the appointed evening, the guests made one agreeable discovery
when they entered the reception rooms. They were left perfectly

free to amuse themselves as they liked.
The drawing-rooms were given up to dancing; the picture gallery

was devoted to chamber music. Chess-players and card-players
found remote and quiet rooms especially prepared for them. People

who cared for nothing but talking were accommodated to perfection
in a sphere of their own. And lovers (in earnest or not in

earnest) discovered, in a dimly-lighted conservatory with many
recesses, that ideal of discreetretirement which combines

solitude and society under one roof.
But the ordering of the refreshments failed, as had been

foreseen, to share in the approval conferred on the arrangement
of the rooms. The first impression was unfavorable. Lady Loring,

however, knew enough of human nature to leave results to two
potent allies--experience and time.

Excepting the conservatory, the astonished guests could go
nowhere without discovering tables prettily decorated with

flowers, and bearing hundreds of little pure white china plates,
loaded with nothing but sandwiches. All varieties of opinion were

consulted. People of ordinary tastes, who liked to know what they
were eating, could choose conventional beef or ham, encased in

thin slices of bread of a delicateflavor quite new to them.
Other persons, less easily pleased, were tempted by sandwiches of

_pate de fois gras_ and by exquisite combinations of chicken and
truffles, reduced to a creamy pulp which clung to the bread like

butter. Foreigners, making experiments, and not averse to garlic,
discovered the finest sausages of Germany and Italy transformed

into English sandwiches. Anchovies and sardines appealed, in the
same unexpected way, to men who desired to create an artificial

thirst--after having first ascertained that the champagne was
something to be fondly remembered and regretted, at other

parties, to the end of the season. The hospitable profusion of
the refreshments was all-pervading and inexhaustible. Wherever

the guests might be, or however they were amusing themselves,
there were the pretty little white plates perpetually tempting

them. People eat as they had never eat before, and even the
inveterate English prejudice against anything new was conquered

at last. Universal opinion declared the Sandwich Dance to be an
admirable idea, perfectly carried out.

Many of the guests paid their hostess the compliment of arriving
at the early hour mentioned in the invitations. One of them was

Major Hynd. Lady Loring took her first opportunity of speaking to
him apart.

"I hear you were a little angry," she said, "when you were told
that Miss Eyrecourt had taken your inquiries out of your hands."

"I thought it rather a bold proceeding, Lady Loring," the Major
replied. "But as the General's widow turned out to be a lady, in

the best sense of the word, Miss Eyrecourt's romantic adventure
has justified itself. I wouldn't recommend her to run the same

risk a second time."
"I suppos e you know what Romayne thinks of it?"

"Not yet. I have been too busy to call on him since I have been
in town. Pardon me, Lady Loring, who is that beautiful creature

in the pale yellow dress? Surely I have seen her somewhere
before?"

"That beautiful creature, Major, is the bold young lady of whose
conduct you don't approve."

"Miss Eyrecourt?"
"Yes."

"I retract everything I said!" cried the Major, quite
shamelessly. "Such a woman as that may do anything. She is

looking this way. Pray introduce me."
The Major was introduced, and Lady Loring returned to her guests.

"I think we have met before, Major Hynd," said Stella.
Her voice supplied the missing link in the Major's memory of

events. Remembering how she had looked at Romayne on the deck of
the steamboat, he began dimly to understand Miss Eyrecourt's

otherwise incomprehensible anxiety to be of use to the General's