Unable to make up his mind, he continued to walk till he reached the quiet street where Augusta lived, and, suddenly perceiving the house of which the clerk had told him, yielded to temptation and rang.
The door was answered by the maid-of-all-work, who looked at him a little curiously, but said that Miss Smithers was in, and then conducted him to a door which was half open, and left him in that kindly and agreeable fashion that maids-of-all-work have.

Eustace was perplexed, and, looking through the door to see if anyone was in the room, discovered Augusta herself dressed in some dark material, seated in a chair, her hands folded on her lap, her pale face set like a stone, and her eyes gleaming into vacancy.

He paused, wondering what could be the matter, and as he did so his umbrella slipped from his hand, making a noise that rendered it necessary for him to declare himself.
Augusta rose as he advanced, and looked at him with a puzzled air, as though she was striving to recall his name or where she had met him.
"I beg your pardon," he stammered, "I must introduce myself, as the girl has deserted me--I am Eustace Meeson." Augusta's face hardened at the name.

"If you have come to me from Messrs.
Meeson and Co."-- she said quickly, and then broke off, as though struck by some new idea.
"Indeed no," said Eustace.

"I have nothing in common with Messrs.
Meeson now, except my name, and I have only come to tell you how sorry I was to see you treated as you were by my uncle.