“Then you didn’t come to enjoy the pleasures of travel?” remarked Quincy, interrogatively.

“No!  By Jove, I didn’t.  My sister did, and she supposes I did.  I’m going to tell you the truth, Mr. Sawyer.  I know you will respect my confidence.”  Quincy nodded.

“The fact is,” Lord Algernon continued, “I came over here to find a girl that I’m in love with, but who ran away from me as soon as I told her of it.”

“But why?” asked Quincy, not knowing what else to say.

“That’s the deuce of it,” replied Lord Algernon; “I sha’n’t know till I find her and ask her.  I met her at Nice, in France; she was with her mother, a Mdme. Archimbault; the daughter’s name was Celeste—­Celeste Archimbault.  They said they were not French, they were French Canadians; came from America, you know.  I was traveling as plain Algernon Hastings, and I don’t think she ever suspected I was the son of an earl.  I proposed one evening.  She said she must speak to her mother, and if I would come the next evening about seven o’clock, she would give me her answer, and I thought by the look in her eye that she herself was willing to say ‘Yes’ then.  But when I called the next evening they had both gone, no one knew where.”

“You are sure she was not an adventuress?” inquired Quincy.  “Excuse the question, my lord, but you really knew nothing about her?”

“I knew that I loved her,” said Lord Algernon, bluntly, “and I would give half of my fortune to find her.  I know she was a true, pure, beautiful girl, and her mother was as honest an old lady as you could find in the world.”

“I wish I could help you,” remarked Quincy.

“Thank you,” said Lord Algernon; “perhaps you may be able to some day.  Don’t forget her name, Celeste Archimbault; she is slight in figure, graceful in her carriage, ladylike in her manners.  She has dark hair, large, dreamy black eyes, with a hidden sorrow in them; in fact, a very handsome brunette.  Here is my card, Mr. Sawyer.  I will write my London address on it, and if you ever hear of her, cable me at once and I’ll take the next steamer for America.”

Quincy said that he would, and put the card in his cardcase.

He excused himself to Lord Algernon and his sister that evening; a prior engagement made it necessary for him to leave for Boston early next morning, and the farewells were then spoken.  Lord Algernon’s last words to Quincy were whispered in his ear, “Don’t forget her name—­Celeste Archimbault!”

The next Sunday morning Quincy and Leopold, as they approached Mrs. Gibson’s house on the Cliff, found Rosa Very standing at the little gate.  She had on the white dress that she had worn the Sunday before, but which Leopold had not seen.  Upon her head was a wide-brimmed straw hat, decked with ribbons and flowers, which intensified the darkness of her hair and eyes.”

“Don’t forget her name—­Celeste Archimbault,” came into Quincy’s mind, but he said, “Nonsense,” to himself, and dismissed the thought.