THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 
198 
“ Pray be seated, Miss Gale. And what 
can I do for you ? ” 
For a moment or two she stared with 
wide grey eyes. Then* “ Oh, dear ! she 
cried. ' “ So you don't know me ? ” 
Timothy felt and looked uncomfortable. 
“ l beg your pardon,” he said at last, 
“ but have we met before ? I can't imagine 
how I could possibly have forgotten.” 
“ No, no ; 1 didn’t mean that. But you 
see, my uncle said he had written to you.” 
“ Your uncle ? ” 
“ Mr. John Gale, of Boston. Good gracious! 
don’t you even remember him ? ” 
Timothy’s hand had gone to his forehead. 
“ John Gale ? I seem to have heard the 
name, but And you say he wrote to 
me ? ” 
“ Yes, yes,” rather impatiently. “ Just 
before I sailed he told me he had written to 
you. and gave me your address. That's why 
I’m here. I arrived in London late last night, 
and ” 
“ One moment. Miss Gale.” Timothy’s 
hand fell from his head to a small basket of 
letters on his desk. “ The letter may be 
here. Yes, here it is — Boston postmark. 
Came with the same steamer as you did, 
1 suppose.” He tore open the envelope, 
with its American stamp and unfamiliar 
superscription. “ T suppose I need not 
apologize for reading this in your presence? ” 
he said, now more at his ease. 
“ Please read it as quickly as possible,” 
she returned, smiling, “ and cease to regard 
me as a suspicious character. Fm so glad it 
has arrived safely.” 
The letter was not long. It ran as follows : — 
“My Dear Wells, — Our correspondence 
failed many a long year ago, yet you are the 
only one of the old friends whose memory 
comes clear to me now. I write this in the 
hope that all is well with you, and to ask 
a favour. My niece, Florence Gale, who has 
been to me as a daughter since the loss of her 
parents a good many years ago, has suddenly 
made up her mind — -which is no feeble one — 
to pay a flying visit to London. It is per- 
fectly impossible for me to accompany her, 
and she stoutly refuses to accept any other 
travelling companion. Well, she is of age, 
and is quite independent of me so far as 
money is concerned. Knowing her as I do, 
1 have little anxiety on her account, and that 
little is practically removed, by the thought 
of you. She will call upon you on her arrival, 
and I am sure you will extend to her all 
the help and advice she may require. She 
will not remain more than ten days on your 
side. On her return she will give me the 
best news, I trust, of you and yours. Is 
there no chance of your paying us a visit, 
old friend ? Alas ! how the years have 
flown. — Cordially yours, John Gale. 
“ P.S. — Please cable me as soon as Florence 
reaches you.” 
Having finished reading the letter, Timothy 
continued to gaze at it with wrinkled brows. 
“ Well ? ” said Miss Gale, softly. “ Is not 
my certificate in order ? ” 
Timothy’s countenance relaxed. A smile 
dawned in his eyes. “I am very glad to see 
you, Miss Gale,” he said, seating himself, 
“ and glad to welcome you in my father’s 
name. My father died many years ago. 
Your uncle’s letter is written to him. I didn’t 
notice that at once, because I happen to bear 
the same name as my father. Now I recol- 
lect my father’s mentioning a Mr. Gale — a 
very old friend who had gone abroad. It is 
possible that, as a lad, I have met your uncle. 
In any case, I am very much at your service, 
Miss Gale. You said you arrived last night, 
I think ? ” 
“ Yes. I went to the Savoy Hotel, and I 
expect to stay on there. It’s a lovely hotel, 
isn’t it ? ” 
“ Y-yes,”said Timothy, a little doubtfully. 
“ Did your uncle recommend it ? 
“ Oh, no. Poor Uncle John recommended 
a frightfully stuffy place — you see, he had not 
been in London for thirty years — and I 
changed my mind when I saw it, and told 
the chauffeur I wanted something bright and 
gay.” 
“ Quite so.” A brief pause. “ I gather 
from your uncle’s letter, Miss Gale, that you 
have no friends in London.” 
“ Not one,” she replied, with the utmost 
cheerfulness. “ That is, excepting yourself, 
Mr. Wells — if 1 may make so bold,” she added, 
quite seriously. 
Timothy flushed slightly. There was cer- 
tainly something pleasant about this young 
woman’s manner. “If you will do me so 
much honour,” he corrected, gravely.^ “ And 
now, to begin with,” he proceeded, “ I must 
inform my sisters that you are here. 1 have 
three sisters, Miss Gale, younger than myself, 
and married. They will do what they can 
to make your visit to London enjoyable, and 
I am sure Mirabel will be delighted that you 
should stay ” 
“ Mr. Wells ! ” she interrupted, gently. 
“ Yes ? ” 
“ Mr. Wells, will you promise not to be 
offended ? ” 
“ Offended ? Why, of course not ! You 
