"Love is by fancy led about,
From hope to fear, from joy to doubt."
It was a week before John Faunce appeared upon the troubled scene of Grace Perivale's life. He had been in Vienna, and he called in Grosvenor Square at half-past nine o'clock on the evening of his return, in answer to three urgent letters from her ladyship which he found on his office table in Essex Street.
Susan Rodney had been dining with her friend, and they were taking their coffee in the morning-room when Faunce was announced.
"Bring the gentleman here," Lady Perivale told the servant, and then turned to Miss Rodney.
"You don't mind, do you, Sue? If you have never seen a detective, it may be rather interesting."
"Mind? No! I am as keen as you are about this business. What a fool I was not to suggest a detective at the beginning. I shall love to see and talk with a detective. I have been longing to meet one all my life. Unberufen," added Miss Rodney, rapping the table.
"Mr. Faunce," said the butler; and a serious-looking, middle-aged man, of medium height and strong frame, with broad, high forehead, kindly black eyes, and short, close-cut black whiskers, came into the room.
There was a pleasant shrewdness in his countenance, and his manner was easy without being familiar.
"Pray be seated, Mr. Faunce," said Lady Perivale. "I am very glad to see you. This lady is Miss Rodney, my particular friend, from whom I have no secrets."
Faunce bowed to Miss Rodney, before seating himself very composedly outside the circle of light under the big lamp-shade.