‘Eliza Nicholson.’

‘Merely to keep one’s hand in,’ thought Merton, ’in the present disappointing slackness of business, I’ll try to see Jephson.  I don’t like or trust him.  I don’t think he is the man for Miss Willoughby.  So, if he ousts the doctor, and catches the heiress, why “there was more lost at Shirramuir,” as Logan says.’

Merton managed to go up to Oxford, and called on Jephson.  He found him anxious about a good, quiet, cheap place for study.

‘Do you fish?’ asked Merton.

‘When I get the chance,’ said Jephson.

He was a dark, rather clumsy, but not unprepossessing young don, with a very slight squint.

’If you fish did you ever try the Perch—­I mean an inn, not the fish of the same name—­at Walton-on-Dove?  A pretty quiet place, two miles of water, local history perhaps interesting.  It is not very far from Tutbury, where Queen Mary was kept, I think.’

‘It sounds well,’ said Jephson; ’I’ll write to the landlord and ask about terms.’

‘You could not do better,’ said Merton, and he took his leave.

‘Now, am I,’ thought Merton as he walked down the Broad, ’to put Jephson up to it?  If I don’t, of course I can’t “reap the benefit of one single pin” for the Society:  Jephson not being a member.  But the money, anyhow, would come from that old harpy out of the girl’s estate. Olet!  I don’t like the fragrance of that kind of cash.  But if the girl really is plain, “a toad,” nothing may happen.  On the other hand, Jephson is sure to hear about her position from local gossip—­that she is rich, and so on.  Perhaps she is not so very plain.  They are sure to meet, or Mrs. Nicholson will bring them together in her tactful way.  She has not much time to lose if the girl’s glass ball yarn is true, and it may be true by a fluke.  Jephson is rather bitten by a taste for all that “teleopathy” business, as the old Malaprop calls it.  On the whole, I shall say no more to him, but let him play the game, if he goes to Walton, off his own bat.’

Presently Merton received a note from Jephson dated ’The Perch, Walton-on-Dove.’  Jephson expressed his gratitude; the place suited his purpose very well.  He had taken a brace and a half of trout, ’bordering on two pounds’ (’one and a quarter,’ thought Merton).  ’And, what won’t interest you,’ his letter said, ’I have run across a curiously interesting subject, what you would call hysterical.  But what, after all, is hysteria?’ &c., &c.

‘L’affaire est dans le sac!’ said Merton to himself.  ’Jephson and Miss Monypenny have met!’

Weeks passed, and one day, on arriving at the office, Merton found Miss Willoughby there awaiting his arrival.  She was the handsome Miss Willoughby, Jephson’s betrothed, a learned young lady who lived but poorly by verifying references and making researches at the Record Office.