The last remark was made in a tone of bitterness. Mrs Girdwood had been now several months in London; and though stopping at the Clarendon Hotel--the caravanserai of aristocratic travellers--she had failed to get introduction to the titled of the land.

The American Embassy had been polite to her, both Minister and Secretary--the latter, noted for his urbanity to all, but especially to his own countrymen, or countrywomen, without distinction of class. The Embassy had done all that could be one for an American lady travelling without introductions. But, however rich and accomplished, however beautiful the two girls in her train, Mrs Girdwood could not be presented at Court, her antecedents not being known.

It is true a point might have been strained in her favour; but the American ambassador of that day was as true a toad-eater to England's aristocracy as could have been found in England itself, and equally fearful of becoming compromised by his introductions. We need not give his name. The reader skilful in diplomatic records can no doubt guess it.

Under these circumstances, the ambitious widow had to submit to a disappointment.

She found little difficulty in obtaining introductions to England's commonalty. Her riches secured this. But the gentry! these were even less accessible than the exclusives of Newport--the J.'s, and the L.'s, and the B.'s. Titled or untitled, they were all the same. She discovered that a simple country squire was as unapproachable as a peer of the realm--earl, marquis, or duke!

"Never mind, my girls!" was her consolatory speech, to daughter and niece, when the scales first fell from her eyes. "His lordship will soon be here, and then it will be all right."

His lordship meant Mr Swinton, who had promised to follow them in the "next steamaw."

But the next steamer came with no such name as Swinton on its passenger list, nor any one bearing the title of "lord."

And the next, and the next, and some half-dozen others, and still no Swinton, either reported by the papers, or calling at the Clarendon Hotel!

Could an accident have happened to the nobleman, travelling _incognito_?

Or, what caused more chagrin to Mrs Girdwood to conjecture, had he forgotten his promise?

In either case he ought to have written. A gentleman would have done so--unless dead.

But no such death had been chronicled in the newspapers. It could not have escaped the notice of the retail storekeeper's widow, who each day read the London _Times_, and with care its list of arrivals.

She became at length convinced, that the accomplished nobleman accidentally picked up in Newport, and afterwards entertained by her in her Fifth Avenue house in New York, was either no nobleman at all, or if one, had returned to his own country under another travelling name, and was there fighting shy of her acquaintance.

It was but poor comfort that many of her countrymen--travellers like themselves--every day called upon them; among others Messrs. Lucas and Spiller--such was the cognomen of Mr Lucas's friend, who, also on a tour of travel, had lately arrived in England.

But neither of them had brought any intelligence, such as Mrs Girdwood sought. Neither knew anything of the whereabouts of Mr Swinton.

They had not seen him since the occasion of that dinner in the Fifth Avenue house; nor had they heard of him again.

It was pretty clear then he had come to England, and was "cutting"

them--that is, Mrs Girdwood and her girls.

This was the mother's reflection.

The thought was enough to drive her out of the country; and out of it she determined to go, partly in search of that title for her daughter she had come to Europe to obtain; and partly to complete, what some of her countrymen are pleased to call, the "Ewropean tower."

To this the daughter was indifferent, while the niece of coarse made no objection.

They proceeded upon their travels.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

THE LOST LORD.

Ten days after Mrs Girdwood had taken her departure from the Clarendon Hotel, a gentleman presented himself to the door-porter of that select hostelry, and put the following inquiry:

"Is there a family stopping here, by name Girdwood--a middle-aged lady, with two younger--her daughter and niece; a negro woman for their servant?"

"There _was_ such a fambly--about two weeks ago. They've _paid their bill_, and gone away."

The janitor laid emphasis on the paying of the bill. It was _his_ best evidence of the respectability of the departed guests.

"Do you know where they've gone?"

"Haven't an idea, sir. They left no address. They 'pear to be Yankees--'Mericans, I mean," said the man, correcting himself, in fear of giving offence. "Very respectable people--ladies, indeed--'specially the young 'uns. I dare say they've gone back to the States. That's what I've heerd them call their country."

"To the States! Surely not?" said the stranger, half questioning himself. "How long since they left the hotel?"

"About a fortnight ago--there or thereabout. I can look at the book and tell you?"

"Pray do!"

The Cerberus of the Clarendon--to an humble applicant for admission into that aristocratic establishment not much milder than he of the seven heads--turned into his box, and commenced examining the register of departures.

He was influenced to this civility by the aspect of the individual who made the request. To all appearance a "reg'lar gentleman," was the reflection he had indulged in.

"Departures on the 25th," spoke he, reading from the register: "Lord S-- and Lady S--; the Hon. Augustus Stanton; the Duchess of P--; Mrs Girdwood and fambly--that's them. They left on the 25th, sir."

"The 25th. At what hour?"

"Well, that I can't remember. You see, there's so many goin' and comin'. From their name being high up on the list, I d'say they went by a mornin' train."

"You're sure they left no note for any one?"

"I can ask inside. What name?"

"Swinton--Mr Richard Swinton."

"Seems to me they inquired for that name, several times. Yes, the old lady did--the mother of the young ladies, I mean. I'll see if there's a note."

The man slippered off towards the office, in the interior of the hotel; leaving Mr Swinton, for it was he, upon the door-mat.

The countenance of the ex-guardsman, that had turned suddenly blank, again brightened up. It was at least gratifying to know that he had been inquired for. It was to be hoped there was a note, that would put him on their trace of travel.

"No, not any," was the chilling response that came out from the official oracle. "None whatever."

"You say they made inquiries for a Mr Swinton. Was it from yourself, may I ask?" The question was put seductively, accompanied by the holding out of a cigar-case.

"Thank you, sir," said the flattered official, accepting the offered weed. "The inquiries were sent down to me from their rooms. It was to ask if a Mr Swinton had called, or left any card. They also asked about a lord. They didn't give his name. There wasn't any lord-- leastwise not for them."

"Were there any gentlemen in the habit of visiting them? You'll find that cigar a good one--I've just brought them across the Atlantic. Take another? Such weeds are rather scarce here in London."

"You're very kind, sir. Thank you!" and the official helped himself to a second.