e in her manner of
writing, which became more and more marked in each succeeding instance.
Notice it as he might in his own letters, no explanation followed on
the part of his correspondent. She, who had so frankly confided her
joys and sorrows to him in past days, now wrote with a reserve which
seemed only to permit the most vague and guarded allusion to herself.
The changes in the weather; the alternation of public news that was
dull, and public news that was interesting; the absence of her father
abroad, occasioned by doubt of the soundness of his investments in
foreign securities; vague questions relating to Hugh's new place of
abode, which could only have proceeded from a preoccupied mind--these
were the topics on which Iris dwelt, in writing to her faithful old
friend. It was hardly possible to doubt that something must have
happened, which she had reasons--serious reasons, as it seemed only too
natural to infer--for keeping concealed from Mountjoy. Try as he might
to disguise it from himself, he now knew how dear, how hopelessly dear,
she was to him by the anxiety that he suffered, and by the jealous
sense of injury which defied his self-command. His immediate
superintendence of the workmen at the cottage was no longer necessary.
Leaving there a representative whom he could trust, he resolved to
answer his last letter, received from Iris, in person.

The next day he was in London.

Calling at the house, he was informed that Miss Henley was not at home,
and that it was impossible to say with certainty when she might return.
While he was addressing his inquiries to the servant, Mr. Henley opened
the library door. "Is that you, Mountjoy?" he asked. "Come in: I want
to speak to you."

Short and thick-set, with a thin-lipped mouth, a coarsely-florid
complexion, and furtive greenish eyes; hard in his manner, and harsh in
his voice; Mr. Henley was one of the few heartless men, who are
innocent of deception on the surface: he was externally a person who
inspired, at first sight, feelings of doubt and dislike. His manner
failed to show even a pretence of being glad to see Hugh. What he had
to say, he said walking up and down the room, and scratching his
bristly iron-gray hair from time to time. Those signs of restlessness
indicated, to those who knew him well, that he had a selfish use to
make of a fellow-creature, and failed to see immediately how to reach
the end in view.

"I say, Mountjoy," he began, "have you any