as in excellent spirits to-night, the
excitement of the day having swept his mind clear of anxieties.

'There's something in it, though, that you ought to see.'

He pointed out the paragraph relating to Eldon.

'Keene's writing, eh?' said Mutimer thoughtfully.

'Yes, he gave me the paper.'

Richard rekindled his cigar with deliberation, and stood for a few
moments with one foot on the fender.

'Who is the woman?' he then asked.

'I don't know her name. Of course it's the same story continued.'

'And concluded.'

'Well, I don't know about that,' said the other, smiling and shaking his
head.

'This may or may not be true, I suppose,' was Richard's next remark.

'Oh, I suppose the man hears all that kind of thing. I don't see any
reason to doubt it.'

'May I keep the paper?'

'Oh, yes. Keene told me, by-the-by, that he gave a copy to young
Waltham.'

Mr. Rodman spoke whilst rolling the cigar in his mouth. Mutimer allowed
the subject to lapse.

There was no impossibility, no improbability even, in the statement made
by the newspaper correspondent; yet as Richard thought it over in the
night, he could not but regard it as singular that Mr. Keene should be
the man to make public such a piece of information so very opportunely.
He was far from having admitted the man to his confidence, but between
Keene and Rodman, as he was aware, an intimacy had sprung up. It might
be that one or the other had thought it worth while to serve him;
why should Keene be particular to put a copy of the paper into Alfred
Waltham's hands? Well, he personally knew nothing of the affair. If
the news effected anything, so much the better. He hoped it might be
trustworthy.

Among his correspondence in the morning was a letter from Emma Vine.
He opened it last; anyone observing him would have seen with what
reluctance he began to read it.

'My dear Richard,' it ran, 'I write to thank you for the money. I would
very much rather have had a letter from you, however short a one. It
seems long since you wrote a real letter, and I can't think how long
since I have seen you. But I know how full of business you are, dear,
and I'm sure you would never come to London without telling me, because
if you hadn't time to come here, I should be only too glad to go to
Highbury, if only for one word. We have got some mourning dresses to
make for the servants of a lady in Islington, so that is good news. But
poor Jane is very bad indeed. She suffers