stand why his
face was so gloomy, and his eyes so obstinately averted from her own.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon when Hugo was admitted to Mrs.
Luttrell's sitting-room. He had scarcely seen her since the death of her
eldest son, and was manifestly startled and shocked to see her looking
so much more aged and worn than she had been two years ago. She greeted
him much after her usual fashion, however; she allowed him to touch her
smooth, cold cheek with his lips, and take her stiff hand into his own,
but she showed no trace of any softening emotion.

"Sit down, Hugo," she said. "I am sorry to have brought you away from
your friends."

"Oh, I was glad to come," said Hugo, confusedly. "I was not with
friends; I was in town. It was late for town, but I--I had business."

"This house is no longer a cheerful one," continued Mrs. Luttrell, in a
cold, monotonous voice. "There are no attractions for young men now. It
has been a house of mourning. I could not expect you to visit me."

"Indeed, Aunt Margaret, I would have come if I had known that you wanted
me," said Hugo, wondering whether his tardiness would entail the loss of
Mrs. Luttrell's money.

He recovered his self-possession and his fluency at this thought; if
danger were near, it behoved him to be on the alert.

"I have wanted you," said Mrs. Luttrell. "But I could wait. I knew that
you would come in time. Now, listen to what I have to say."

Hugo held his breath. What could she say that needed all this preamble?

"Hugo Luttrell," his aunt began, very deliberately, "you are a poor man
and an extravagant one."

Hugo smiled, and bowed his head.

"But you are only extravagant. You are not vicious. You have never done
a dishonourable thing--one for which you need blush or fear to meet the
eye of an honest man? Answer me that, Hugo. I may know what you will
say, but I want to hear it from your own lips."

Hugo did not flinch. His face assumed the boyish innocence of expression
which had often stood him in good stead. His great, dark eyes looked
boldly into hers.

"That is all true, Aunt Margaret. I may have done foolish things, but
nothing worse. I have been extravagant, as you say, but I have not been
dishonourable."

He could not have dared to say so much if Richard or Brian had been
alive to contradict him; but they were safely out of the way and he
could say what he chose.

"Then I can trust you, Hugo."

"I will try to be worthy of your trust,