his money, has broken. Perhaps he has found out that his
brother is not _really_ dead after all! I dismiss this last _worst_
suggestion as improbable. The door opens, and he enters.

"Here you are!" I cry, making a joyous rush at him. "I thought you were
never coming! Please, is _that_ your idea of ten minutes?"

"I could not help it," he answers; "he kept me talking; I could not get
away any sooner."

"Why did you go?" say I, dutifully. "Why did not you say, when he asked
you, 'No, I will not?' He would have done it to you as soon as look at
you."

"That would have been so polite to one's host and father-in-law, would
not it?" he answers, a little ironically. "After all, Nancy, where is
the use of vexing people for nothing?"

"Not _people_ generally," reply I, still chafed; "but I _should_ like
some one who was not his child, and in whom it would not be
disrespectful, to pay him out for keeping us all as he did this morning;
he knew as well as possible that we were dying to be off; _that_ was why
he had that last cup: he did not _want_ it any more than I did. He did
not drink it; did not you see? he left three-quarters of it."

Sir Roger does not answer, unless a slight shrug and a passing his hand
across his face with a rather dispirited gesture be an answer. I feel
ashamed of my petulance.

"Do you feel inclined to tell me about your ill news?" I say, gently,
going over to him, and putting my hand on his shoulder. "I have been
making so many guesses as to what it can be?"

"Have you?" he says, looking up. "I dare say. Well, I will tell you. Do
you remember--I dare say you do not--my once mentioning to you that I
had some property in the West Indies--in Antigua?"

I nod.

"To be sure I do; I recollect I had not an idea where Antigua was, and I
looked out for it at once in Tou Tou's atlas."

"Well, a fortnight--three weeks ago--it was when we were in Dresden, I
had a letter telling me of the death of my agent out there. I knew
nothing about him personally--had never seen him--but he had long been
in my poor brother's employment, and was very highly thought of by him."

"_Poor_ brother!" think I; "well, thank Heaven! at least _he_ has not
revived; he would not be 'poor' if he had," but I say only, "Yes?" with
a delicately interrogative accent.

"And to-day comes this letter"--(pulling one out of his
pocket)--"telling me that now that his affairs have been looked into,
they are found to be in the greates