nsult his
mother before taking this grave step.

It was well that reason thus restrained him, for such a declaration
might have brought Miss Joliffe to a swoon. As it was, she noticed the
cloud lifting on his face, and was pleased to think that her
conversation cheered him. A little company was no doubt good for him,
and she sought in her mind for some further topic of interest. Yes, of
course, she had it.

"Lord Blandamer was here this afternoon. He came just like anyone else
might have come, in such a very kind and condescending way to ask after
me. He feared that dear Mr Sharnall's death might have been too severe
a shock for us both, and, indeed, it has been a terrible blow. He was
so considerate, and sat for nearly an hour--for forty-seven minutes I
should say by the clock, and took tea with us in the kitchen as if he
were one of the family. I never could have expected such condescension,
and when he went away he left a most polite message for you, sir, to say
that he was sorry that you were not in, but he hoped to call again
before long."

The cloud had returned to Westray's face. If he had been the hero of a
novel his brow would have been black as night; as it was he only looked
rather sulky.

"I shall have to go to London to-night," he said stiffly, without
acknowledging Miss Joliffe's remarks; "I shall not be back to-morrow,
and may be away a few days. I will write to let you know when I shall
be back."

Miss Joliffe started as if she had received an electric shock.

"To London to-night," she began--"this very night?"

"Yes," Westray said, with a dryness that would have suggested of itself
that the interview was to be terminated, even if he had not added: "I
shall be glad to be left alone now; I have several letters to write
before I can get away."

So Miss Euphemia went to impart this strange matter to the maiden who
was _ex hypothesi_ leaning on the architect's strong arm.

"What _do_ you think, Anastasia?" she said. "Mr Westray is going to
London to-night, perhaps for some days."

"Is he?" was all her niece's comment; but there was a languor and
indifference in the voice, that might have sent the thermometer of the
architect's affection from boiling-point to below blood-heat, if he
could have heard her speak.

Westray sat moodily for a few moments after his landlady had gone. For
the first time in his life he wished he was a smoker. He wished he had
a pipe in his mouth, and could p