oticed this, but it was impossible for
him to leave the room. For the last twelve years he had been
thinking about Innes, and wanted to tell him how Evelyn had been
loved, and he wanted to air his hatred of religious orders and
religion in general.

"I am afraid I am disturbing you, but I can't help; it," and he
dropped into a chair. "You have no idea, Mr. Innes, how I loved your
daughter."

"She always speaks of you very well, never laying any blame upon
you--I will say that."

"She is a truthful woman. That is the one thing that can be said."

Innes nodded a sort of acquiescence to this appreciation of his
daughter's character; and Owen could not resist the temptation to
try to take Evelyn's father into his confidence, he had been so long
anxious for this talk.

"We have all been in love, you see; your love story is a little
farther back than mine. We all know the bitterness of it--don't we?"

Innes admitted that to know the bitterness of love and its sweetness
is the common lot of all men. The conversation dropped again, and
Owen felt there was to be no unbosoming of himself that afternoon.

"The room has not changed. Twelve years ago I saw those old
instruments for the first time. Not one, I think, has disappeared.
It was here that I first heard Ferrabosco's pavane."

Innes remembered the pavane quite well, but refused to allow the
conversation to digress into a description of Evelyn's playing of
the _viola da gamba_. But if they were not to talk about Evelyn
there was no use tarrying any longer in Dulwich; he had learned all
the old man knew about his daughter. He got up.... At that moment
the door opened and the servant announced Mr. Ulick Dean.

"How do you do, Mr. Innes?" Ulick said, glancing at Owen; and a
suspicion crossed his mind that the tall man with small, inquisitive
eyes who stood watching him must be Owen Asher, hoping that it was
not so, and, at the same time, curious to make his predecessor's
acquaintance; he admitted his curiosity as soon as Innes introduced
him.

"The moment I saw you, Sir Owen, I guessed that it must be you. I had
heard so much about you, you see, and your appearance is so
distinctive."

These last words dissipated the gloom upon Owen's face--it is always
pleasing to think that one is distinctive. And turning from Sir Owen
to Innes, Ulick told him how, finding himself in London, he had
availed himself of the opportunity to run down to see him. Owen sat
criticising,