in what he called his dreary solitude in south audley-street (the landlord being of a different opinion, who was accustomed to mention it as elegant quarters for a nobleman or private gentleman, and to charge three hundred a year for the accommodation), mr. henrich wetter was walking to and fro, just as martin gurwood, tired out by his night's journey, was beginning to open his eyes and to realise the fact that he was in the great northern hotel. now sipping his coffee, now nibbling at his dry toast, while all the time achieving his toilet, mr. wetter communed with himself. his thoughts were of a pleasant character no doubt, for there was a smile upon his face, and he occasionally suspended his operations both of breakfasting and dressing, in order to rub his hands softly together in the enjoyment of some exquisite sly joke.

'i think so,' he said, pausing in his walk, leaning his elbows on the velvet mantelpiece of the sitting-room, and regarding himself approvingly in the looking-glass; 'i think the time has come for me to bring this little affair to a crisis; dalliance is very delightful for boys; the bashful glances, the sidelong looks, the tremulous hand-clasps, and all that sort of thing, are very charming in one's youthful days, but as one advances in life one finds that procrastination in such affairs is a grand mistake; either it is to be, or it is not to be; and it is advisable to know one's fate, to "put it to the touch, and win or lose it all," as the poet says, as speedily as possible. i rather think it is to be in this instance. the young lady, who chooses to pass herself off as mrs. claxton, is remarkably quiet and demure; i should almost be inclined to characterise her as one of those english bread-and-butter misses, if i had not been acquainted with her antecedents. "yes," and "no, thank you," and "o, indeed!"--that is about the average style of her conversation; no apparent appreciation of anything spiritual; no smart reply; no oeillade; nothing piquante or provocative about her; compared to a frenchwoman or a new-york belle, she is positively insipid; and yet she has fascinated me in a way that is quite inexplicable to myself. it is not her beauty; for, though she is undoubtedly pretty in her simple english style, i have known hundreds of more beautiful women. i think the charm must lie in that very want of manner of which i have just been complaining; in her modesty and quiet grace, and in the complete absence of her knowledge of her own powers of attraction; but whatever it may be, it has had an enormous effect upon me, and i believe myself to be more in love with her than i have been for many years with any woman.

'she likes me too i think, if one can judge by the manner of any one so thoroughly undemonstrative. she always makes me welcome when i call at the house, and accepts, passively indeed, but still accepts, such small courtesies as i have thought it right to offer her. a woman like that, accustomed to affection and attention--for i have no doubt old calverley was very fond of her in his way--must necessarily want something to cling to, and alice has nothing; for though she is very fond of little bell, the child is not her own flesh and blood, and here i have the whole field clear to myself; without any fear of rivalry; for i do not count humphrey statham as a rival,' continued mr. wetter, as a contemptuous smile passed across his face, 'though he is evidently deeply smitten. i can judge that by the manner in which he scowled at me the other evening when he found me comfortably seated there, and by the awkward uncouth manners, mainly consisting of silent glaring, which an englishman always adopts whenever he wants to ingratiate himself with a woman. no, no, mr. humphrey statham, yours is not the plan to win little alice's heart. besides, if i find you making too much play, i could command the services of my dear cousin; i could insist that madame du tertre, my old friend mademoiselle pauline lunelle, should interest herself on my side, and she has evidently immense influence over the little woman.

'i think,' said mr. wetter, softly stroking his long fair beard as he surveyed himself in the glass, 'i think i will go up to pollington-terrace about mid-day to-day; i am looking very well, and feeling bright and in excellent spirits; and as my plan is well conceived and well matured, there is no reason why i should any longer delay putting it into execution. it would be advisable, however,' said he, reflecting, 'that my dear cousin should not be in the house at the moment of my visit; i will send down a note to her begging her to come and see me in the city--a hint which i think she will not dare to disobey; and while she is making her way eastward, i will go over to pollington-terrace.'

mr. wetter came to this determination, and to the conclusion of his dressing and his breakfast simultaneously. he then called a cab, and proceeded to the city, having the satisfaction on his way thither of passing another cab proceeding in the same direction, in the occupant of which he recognised humphrey statham. the two gentlemen exchanged salutations; mr. wetter's being bland and courteous, mr. statham's short and reserved; but mr. wetter was very much tickled at the thought of their having met on that particular day, and the smile of satisfaction never left his face until he arrived at his office. once there, he threw himself into his business with his accustomed energy, for no thought of pleasure passed, or gratification in store, ever caused him to be the least inattentive to the main chance; foreign capitalists and english merchants, flashy promoters of fraudulent companies, and steady-going sober bank directors--men from the west-end, who, filled with the stories of fabulous fortunes made by city speculations, and believing in henrich wetter's widespread renown, came to him for advice and assistance; members of parliament and peers of the realm--all of these had interviews with mr. wetter during the two hours which he chose that day to devote to business, and all found him clear-headed, and apparently without thought for any other matter than that which each submitted to him. but when the clock on his mantelpiece pointed to the hour of one, there was scarcely any occasion for him to look to it, for the great rush of pattering feet down the court which his window overlooked, and in which a celebrated chop-house was situate, informed him that the clerks' dinner-hour had arrived; and mr. wetter rang his bell, and, summoning his private secretary, intimated his intention of striking work for the day. the confidential young gentleman, too well trained to say anything at this unwonted proceeding on his employer's part, found it impossible to prevent his expressing his surprise by an elevation of his eyebrows--a movement which mr. wetter did not fail to observe, though he made no comment on it, but he closed his desk, and washed his hands leisurely, chatting to his companion meanwhile; and then effecting his retreat by the private staircase--for it was not advisable that the clerks should see their chief's departure--he stepped into the street, and hailing a cab was driven away to pollington-terrace.

mr. wetter's self-communings while riding in the cab were much of the same kind as those which had occupied him during his morning's toilet. he had directed his driver to take a back route and to avoid the main thoroughfare, lest he should be seen by pauline on her journey down to the city; and there was comparatively so little traffic along the gaunt streets and in the grim old squares through which he passed, that his attention was not distracted, and the current of his thoughts but little disturbed. he would make his formal declaration that day; he had determined upon that; he should tell alice that he loved her, that he had in vain struggled against the passion which she had inspired in his breast the first time he accidentally saw her, now some time ago, in the garden at rose cottage. she would listen, blush, and probably be moved to tears; she would talk about marriage, of course--that was always the way with women in her position--and he would fence lightly with the subject, giving her no positive assurance either way. not that the idea of marrying alice had ever entered into his mind, but that he thought it would be better to avoid the discussion, certainly to avoid the trouble of having to prove to her how impossible it would be for him to take such a step until he had established himself more firmly in her favour. there would be little difficulty in the matter, he thought, though more than if she were a woman of expensive tastes and luxurious habits. that her manner of life, simple and modest as it was, seemed to satisfy her, mr. wetter regarded as the most adverse element in the plan of his campaign; but she would naturally desire to be once more the mistress of a pretty house, such as she had inhabited when he first saw her, and to be freed from the companionship and supervision of madame du tertre. to suggest that by accepting his offer she could be released from the enforced company of that lady was, mr. wetter thought, a great stroke of generalship.

he alighted from the cab at the corner of the terrace, according to his custom, for his tact told him that the frequent arrival of gentlemen visitors in hansom cabs was likely to scandalise mrs. claxton in her neighbours' eyes, and walked quietly up the street. to mr. wetter such expeditions were by no means rare, and if any one had told him he would have been nervous, he would have laughed in his informant's face; but, to do him justice, he felt a certain inward trepidation, and, though a cool wintry breeze was blowing, he raised his hat and wiped the perspiration from his brow as he stood upon the doorstep after ringing at the bell. he asked for madame du tertre at first, and his surprise and slight annoyance at learning that she was from home were admirably feigned. then he asked for mrs. claxton. the servant recognised him as one of the few regular visitors to the house, as the only one, moreover, who had been in the habit of placing largess in her sooty palm, and as a nice, well-dressed, good-looking gentleman at all times. 'mrs. claxton was at home,' she said. 'would he walk in?'

mr. wetter's nervous trepidation increased as he heard the street-door close behind him, and he was glad when he found himself alone in the room to which he was ushered, the servant retiring and promising to let her mistress know of his advent. examining himself in the glass, he saw that he was paler than usual, and that his nether lip trembled.

'it's a deuced odd thing,' he muttered, 'i never felt like this before. i wish there was a glass of brandy handy. what can there be in this woman to upset a man like myself, so perfectly accustomed to such matters?'

the next moment alice entered the room. mr. wetter had admired her from the first time he set eyes upon her, but thought he had never seen her looking so lovely as now, with her healthy red and white complexion set off by her black dress; her shining head with its crisp ripples of dark brown hair, and her hazel eyes, in which a deep, settled, somewhat mournful look had succeeded to the ever-flashing brightly glances of yore. there was something of an air of constraint about her as she bowed to mr. wetter and timidly held out her hand.

'you are surprised to see me, mrs. claxton, are you not?' said wetter, doing his best to conquer the nervousness which still beset him--'to see me at such a time of the day, i mean. i have hitherto availed myself of the privilege of calling upon you in the evening, which, on account of my being a busy man, you were good enough to extend to me; but, having occasion to be in this neighbourhood, i took advantage of the opportunity to inquire after your health.'

alice murmured something to the effect that she was much obliged to him, but mr. wetter's quick eye detected that she too was nervous and uncomfortable. and mr. wetter thought that this was not a bad chance.

'i am sorry,' said alice, after a slight pause, 'that madame du tertre is not within.'

'i am also sorry to miss my cousin,' said mr. wetter, 'she is always so spirituelle, so amiable. but, to tell the truth, my visit of to-day was not to her, and even had she been at home, i should have asked to see you.'

'to see me, mr. wetter! and why?'

'because, mrs. claxton, i have something to say to you, and to you alone. a woman even of your small experience,' he continued, with the faintest sneer playing round his mouth, 'cannot fail to have observed that you have made upon me more than an ordinary impression; that even during our brief acquaintance you have inspired me with feelings such as we are not often permitted in our lives to experience.'

alice was silent. as she listened to his first words, as the tone in which he spoke fell upon her ear, the scene then passing seemed to fade away, and there arose before her mind, a vision of the river-walk along the banks of the ouse, just abreast of bishopthorpe, where in the calm summer evening arthur preston had insulted her with his base proposal. mr. wetter augured well from this silence, and proceeded more volubly.

'i have known you longer than you imagine,' he said, 'and have admired you from the first instant i set eyes upon you. i was so captivated that i determined at all hazards to make your acquaintance; and when i had done so, i discovered that you were more charming than ever, that i was more hopelessly enslaved. and then came the fierce desire to win you, to take you all to myself, to hold you as my own, my only love.'

she was silent still, her eyes fixed on vacancy, though her lips trembled. henrich wetter bent forward and laid his hand upon her fingers as they twitched nervously in her lap. 'alice,' he whispered, 'do you hear me?'

the touch roused her at once. 'yes,' she said, quickly withdrawing her hand from his as though she had been stung, and rising from her chair, 'i do hear what pains and grieves me in the highest degree.'

'pains and grieves you, alice--'

'my name is mrs. claxton, and i desire you will call me by it. yes, pains and grieves me, mr. wetter,' she continued in a breaking voice, and with a sudden abnegation of her dignity: 'it is cruel in you, it is not like a gentleman to speak to me in this way without the slightest encouragement, and within six months of my husband's death.'

not like a gentleman! that phrase, quietly spoken as it was, and without any attempt at dramatic emphasis, cut henrich wetter to the soul. he was not a gentleman by birth or breeding, by nature, or even by education--and he knew it. his life was one long struggle to deceive on this point those with whom he was brought into contact. he was always suspecting that his position as gentleman was being called in question, and often he would sit with lowering brow and flaming cheek construing the most innocent observations into personal reflections on himself. not a gentleman! for an instant he winced under the phrase, and then with his blood boiling he determined to be revenged.

he had his voice perfectly under his command as he leant lazily back in his chair and looked up at her.

'your husband's death!' he echoed. 'don't you think, mrs.--mrs. claxton, you had better drop all that nonsense with me?'

alice scarcely understood his words, but there was no mistaking the marked insolence of his tone. 'i--i don't understand you,' she said, in amazement.

'o, yes, you do!' said mr. wetter, with the same lazy air. 'i am not mr. statham, you know, nor one of your neighbours in the terrace here. i am a man of the world, and understand these matters. don't talk about dead husbands to me!'

for an instant alice stood petrified. for an instant a vague idea flashed across her that john might not be dead after all. she had never seen him after death. could there by any possibility have been a mistake in his identity?

'i don't understand you, mr. wetter,' she said, in a low, hurried voice. 'do you mean to say that my husband, mr. claxton, is not dead?'

'i mean to say,' said wetter, 'what you know very well, that the man with whom you lived in the cottage at hendon--i saw you there--was not your husband at all.'

alice bent forward, leaning her hands upon the table, and looking at him for an instant with parted lips and heaving breast. then she said, 'not my husband! john claxton not my husband!'

'john claxton indeed!' cried wetter. 'now, how perfectly ridiculous it is in you to attempt to keep up this nonsense with me! call the man by his right name--acknowledge him in his proper position!'

she bent nearer to him with her eyes fixed upon his, and said in a low voice, 'are you mad, or am i?'

in an instant wetter's intelligence showed him the real state of the case. this woman was not what he had supposed. she believed herself what she professed to be, the widow of a man named claxton, not the mistress of dead john calverley. what should he do? his rage was over, his reason had returned, and he was prepared to act in the way which would best serve his purpose. should he withdraw from the position he had advanced, getting out of it as best he might, or should he point out to her how matters really stood, the fraud of which he had been the victim, involving her degradation and her shame? that would be the better plan, he thought, for the end he had in view. to destroy her worship of john calverley's memory, to point out to her how low she had fallen, and then to offer himself as her consoler. that was the best game in his power, and he determined to play it.

his manner had lost all its insolence, all its familiarity, as he courteously motioned her to a seat, and said, 'sit down, madam, and hear me. either you are wishing to deceive me, or, as i rather believe, you have yourself been made the victim of a gross deception. if the latter be the case, you will require all your nerve to bear what i am going to tell you. the man whom you knew under the name of claxton, and whom you believed to be your husband, was in reality john calverley, a married man, married long since to a woman of double your age.'

she did not start, she did not cry. she looked hard at him, and said in a voice that seemed to force itself with difficulty through her compressed lips, 'it is not true! it is a lie!'

'it is true--i swear it!' cried henrich wetter. 'i knew mr. calverley in business years ago. some months before his death i saw him walking with you in the garden at hendon, and recognised him at once. i determined to see you again, but mr. calverley's death intervened, and--' he paused as he saw alice pointing towards the door.

'go,' she said, 'if you please--leave me at once, i must be left alone.'

mr. wetter rose. he had made his coup, and he knew that then at least there was nothing farther to be done. so he took up his hat, made a quiet and respectful bow, and left the room without uttering a word.

then alice flung her arms upon the table, and then burying her head between them, gave way to the violence of her grief. what wild exclamations of rage and despair are those which she utters amidst her bursts and sobbings? what reproaches, what maledictions against him now discovered to be the author of her misery?

the only distinguishable words are, 'o, my poor dear john! o, my dear old john!'