h one watchful eye on Dudley all the time, made a lane
through her boxes and her hampers to admit the passage of her father to
a chair.

By this time Dudley had recovered himself a little, and was able to
answer the question Mr. Wedmore now put to him.

"What do you think of that, Horne?"

"I think, sir, that it must be more than a coincidence; that Mrs. Jacobs
must be the wife of the man who was my father's manager."

"Well, I think so, too. I know Jacobs's wife had an impediment in her
speech. The odd part of the business is that he should have disappeared
at Limehouse, the very place where one would have thought he would have
an objection to turning up at all, connected as it was with his old
peculations. I suppose he thought they were forgotten by this time."

"I suppose so."

Dudley still looked very white. He took up the paper again, as if to
re-read the paragraph. But Doreen, from her post of vantage on the
floor, saw that he held it before him with eyes fixed. Mr. Wedmore,
after a little hesitation, and after vainly trying to get another look
at the face of the younger man, went on again:

"I thought you would be struck by this; the subject turning up again in
this odd way, just when you've been interesting yourself so much in the
old story!"

Down went the paper, and Dudley looked into the face of Mr. Wedmore.

"Interesting myself in it! Have I? How do you mean?"

"Well, you've asked a good many questions about this Jacobs, and
wondered what had become of him. I fancy you have the answer in that
paragraph."

There was a pause, and Dudley seemed to recollect something. Then he
said:

"Oh, yes, I think I have. The man has fallen upon bad times, evidently.
I--I--I'm sorry for his wife."

"And the man himself--haven't you forgiven him yet?"

Dudley started, and glanced quickly round, as if the simple words had
been an accusation.

"Forgiven him? Oh, yes, long ago. At least--" He paused a moment, and
then added, inquiringly: "What had I to forgive?"

"Well, to tell the truth, Horne, that's just what I have often asked
myself, when you have insisted upon raking up all the details of poor
Jacobs's misdeeds! Why, your poor father, who was ruined by his
dishonesty, never showed half the animosity you do. I could have
understood it if you had suffered by his frauds. But have you? You have
been well educated; you have started well in life. And on the whole, no
man who has arrived at your age can hones