ned to be alone. I wish it were
otherwise, as I am sure he would better bear his sorrow, if he would
go about among other men."

"No doubt he would suffer less," said Tregear. Then there was a
pause. Each wished that the other should introduce the matter which
both knew was to be the subject of their conversation. But Tregear
would not begin. "When I left them all at Florence," he said, "I
little thought that I should never see her again."

"You had been intimate with them, Mr. Tregear?"

"Yes; I think I may say I have been intimate with them. I had been at
Eton and at Christ Church with Silverbridge, and we have always been
much together."

"I have understood that. Have you and the Duke been good friends?"

"We have never been enemies."

"I suppose not that."

"The Duke, I think, does not much care about young people. I hardly
know what he used to do with himself. When I dined with them, I saw
him, but I did not often do that. I think he used to read a good
deal, and walk about alone. We were always riding."

"Lady Mary used to ride?"

"Oh yes; and Lord Silverbridge and Lord Gerald. And the Duchess used
to drive. One of us would always be with her."

"And so you became intimate with the whole family?"

"So I became intimate with the whole family."

"And especially so with Lady Mary?" This she said in her sweetest
possible tone, and with a most gracious smile.

"Especially so with Lady Mary," he replied.

"It will be very good of you, Mr. Tregear, if you endure and forgive
all this cross-questioning from me, who am a perfect stranger to
you."

"But you are not a perfect stranger to her."

"That is it, of course. Now, if you will allow me, I will explain to
you exactly what my footing with her is. When the Duchess returned,
and when I found her to be so ill as she passed through London, I
went down with her into the country,--quite as a matter of course."

"So I understand."

"And there she died,--in my arms. I will not try to harass you by
telling you what those few days were; how absolutely he was struck to
the ground, how terrible was the grief of the daughter, how the boys
were astonished by the feeling of their loss. After a few days they
went away. It was, I think, their father's wish that they should go.
And I too was going away,--and had felt, indeed, directly her spirit
had parted from her, that I was only in the way in his house. But I
stayed at his request, because he did not wish his d