y. And what have you been
doing for the last day or two?" asked the Captain, with a searching
glance at his _protege's_ face. "You're always hanging about Sheldon's
place; but you don't seem to do much business with him. You and his
brother George seem uncommonly thick."

"Yes, George suits me better than the stockbroker. I never could get on
very well with your ultra-respectable men. I'm as ready to 'undertake a
dirty job' as any man; but I don't like a fellow to offer me dirty work
and pretend it's clean."

"Ah, he's been getting you to do a little of the bear business, I
suppose," said the Captain. "I don't see that your conscience need
trouble you about that. Amongst a commercial people money must change
hands. I can't see that it much matters how the change takes place."

"No, to be sure; that's a comfortable way of putting it, at any rate.
However, I'm tired of going about in the ursine guise, and I'm going to
cut it. I've an old aunt settled at Dorking who has got a little bit of
money to leave, and I think I'll go and look her up."

"An aunt at Dorking! I never heard of her before."

"O yes you have," answered Mr. Hawkehurst, with supreme nonchalance;
"you've heard of her often enough, only you've a happy knack of not
listening to other people's affairs. But you must have been wrapped up
in yourself with a vengeance if you don't remember to have heard me
speak of my aunt--Sarah."

"Well, well, it may be so," murmured the Captain, almost
apologetically. "Your aunt Sarah? Ah, to be sure; I have some
recollection: is she your father's sister?"

"No; she's the sister of my maternal grandmother--a great-aunt, you
know. She has a comfortable little place down at Dorking, and I can get
free quarters there whenever I like; so as you don't particularly want
me just now, I think I'll run down to her for a week or two."

The Captain had no objection to offer to this very natural desire on
the part of his adopted son; nor did he concern himself as to the young
man's motive for leaving London.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHARLOTTE PROPHESIES RAIN.

Mr. Hawkehurst had no excuse for going to the Lawn before his
departure; but the stately avenues between Bayswater and Kensington are
free to any man; and, having nothing better to do, Valentine put a
shabby little volume of Balzac in his pocket, and spent his last
morning in town under the shadow of the mighty elms, reading one of the
great Honore's gloomiest romances,