"Alphonse, you must be here all day," he said. "Mordaunt, of the Frivolity, will send for that poster; and a messenger may come from the Piccadilly Magazine--the drawings are in a parcel on my desk. Say to any person who calls that I will not be back until evening."
"By the by, Alphonse, you were living in a big house in the Parc Monceaux half a dozen years ago?"
"Do you remember a gentleman by the name of Marchand--M. Felix Marchand?"
"My memory may be at fault," Alphonse answered, "but I do not recall a person of that name."
"Well, no matter. He may not have resided there then, and the Parc Monceaux means a large neighborhood."
Jack banished M. Marchand from his mind with ease, as he went out into the sunshine and freshness of the spring morning; the singing of the birds, and the beauty of the trees and flowers, told him that it was a glorious thing to be alive. He waited a few moments at a nearby livery stable, while the attendants brought out a very swell-looking and newly varnished trap, and put into the shafts a horse that would have held his own in Hyde Park.
Chiswick high-road, with its constantly widening and narrowing perspectives, its jumble of old and modern houses, had never looked more cheerful as Jack drove rapidly westward. He crossed Kew Bridge, rattled on briskly, and finally entered Richmond, where he pulled up by the curb opposite to the station where centre a number of suburban railway lines.
He had not long to wait--a glance at his watch told him that. Five minutes later the rumble of an incoming train was heard, and presently a double procession of passengers came up the steps to the street. Jack had eyes for one only, a radiant vision of loveliness, as sweet and fresh and blushing as a June rose. The vision was Madge Foster, her graceful figure set off by a new spring gown from Regent street, and a sailor hat perched on her golden curls. She stepped lightly into the trap, and nestled down on the cushions.
"Oh, Jack, what _will_ you think of me after this," she cried, half seriously.
"I think that the famed beauties of Hampton Court would turn green in their frames with envy if they could see you now," Jack answered evasively, as he flicked the horses with his whip. "Here we go for a jolly day. It will come to an end all too soon."