CHANGES.
Shortly after ten on the Wednesday morning a young gentleman clad in travelling costume drove up to the door of a house in Edgeware Road, got out of the hansom, stepped across the pavement, and rang the bell. The smart little maid-servant who answered the summons appeared to know him, but was naturally none the less surprised by so early a visit.
"Miss Burgoyne isn't down yet, sir!" she said, in answer to his inquiries.
"Very well, I will wait," said the young man, who seemed rather hurried and nervous. "Will you tell her that I wish to see her on a matter of great importance. She will know what it is."
Well, it was not the business of this rosy-cheeked maid to check the vagaries of impetuous lovers; she merely said,
"Will you step up-stairs, sir; there's a fire in the morning-room."
She led the way, and when she had left him in the bright little chamber—where breakfast-things for one were laid on the table—she departed to find, perhaps to arouse, her mistress. The young man went to the window and stared into the street. He returned to the fire and stared into the red flames. He took
up a newspaper that was on the table and opened it, but could not fix his attention. And no wonder; for he had just succeeded to a baronetcy and the extensive Petmansworth estates; and he was determined to win a bride as well—even as he was on his way to his father's funeral.
It was some considerable time before Miss Burgoyne came down, and when she did make her appearance she seemed none too well pleased by this unconscionable intrusion; at the same time she had paid some little attention to her face, and she wore a most charming tea-gown of pink and sage-green.
"Well?" she said, rather coldly. "What now? I thought you had gone over to Paris."