n rejoicing in the exercise of their natural
affections, what could that be but the proneness to evil in its
grossest form?

It was naturally a great surprise to Maud when she received the letter
from her aunt, which asked her not to continue her engagement into the
new quarter, giving as a reason merely that the writer wished for her
at home. It was even with something of dread and shrinking that she
looked forward to a renewal of the old life. Still, it was enough that
her aunt had need of her. On her return to London, she was met with
strange revelations. Miss Bygrave's story had been agreed upon between
herself and Paul. It had been deemed best to make Mrs. Enderby's
insanity the explanation of Maud's removal from her parents, and the
girl, stricken as she was with painful emotions, seemed to accept this
undoubtingly.

The five years or so since Paul Enderby's reappearance in England
seemed to have been not unprosperous. The house to which Maud was
welcomed by her father and mother was not a large one, and not in a
very fashionable locality, but it was furnished with elegance. Mrs.
Enderby frequently had her hired brougham, and made use of it to move
about a good deal where people see and are seen. Mr. Enderby's business
was "in the City." How he had surmounted his difficulties was not very
clear; his wife learned that he had brought with him from America a
scheme for the utilisation of waste product in some obscure branch of
manufacture, which had been so far successful as to supply him with a
small capital. He seemed to work hard, leaving home at nine each
morning, getting back to dinner at half-past six, and, as often as not,
spending the evening away from home, and not returning till the small
hours. He had the feverish eye of a man whose subsistence depends upon
speculative acuteness and restless calculation. No doubt he was still
so far the old Paul, that, whatever he undertook, he threw himself into
it with surpassing vigour.

Mrs. Enderby was in her thirty-eighth year, and still handsome. Most
men, at all events, would have called her so, for most men are
attracted by a face which is long, delicate, characterless, and
preserves late the self-conscious expression of a rather frivolous girl
of seventeen. She had ideals of her own, which she pursued regardless
of the course in which they led her; and these ideals were far from
ignoble. To beauty of all kinds she was passionately sensitive. As a
girl she had