At last a letter came from Gloucester Place.
“Will my kind friend now ACT?
“Gratefully,
“BELLA BASSETT.”
Mr. Rolfe, upon this, cast his discontent to the winds and started for Bellevue House.
On the evening of that day a surgeon called Boddington was drinking tea with his wife, and they were talking rather disconsolately; for he had left a fair business in the country, and, though a gentleman of undoubted skill, was making his way very slowly in London.
The conversation was agreeably interrupted by a loud knock at the door.
A woman had come to say that he was wanted that moment for a lady of title in Gloucester Place, hard by.
“I will come,” said he, with admirably affected indifference; and, as soon as the woman was out of sight, husband and wife embraced each other.
“Pray God it may all go well, for your sake and hers, poor lady.”