," she said.

"What was his name?"

"Ronald."

"Do you know when he died?"

"No."

Jervy fell into thought again, biting his nails in great perplexity.
After a moment or two, an idea came to him. "The tombstone will tell
me!" he exclaimed, speaking to himself. He turned to Phoebe, before she
could express her surprise, and asked if she knew where Mr. Ronald was
buried.

"Yes," said Phoebe, "I've heard that. In Highgate cemetery. But why do
you want to know?"

Jervy looked at his watch. "It's getting late," he said; "I'll see you
safe home."

"But I want to know--"

"Put on your bonnet, and wait till we are out in the street."

Jervy paid the bill, with all needful remembrance of the waiter. He was
generous, he was polite; but he was apparently in no hurry to favour
Phoebe with the explanation that he had promised. They had left the
tavern for some minutes--and he was still rude enough to remain absorbed
in his own reflections. Phoebe's patience gave way.

"I have told you everything," she said reproachfully; "I don't call it
fair dealing to keep me in the dark after that."

He roused himself directly. "My dear girl, you entirely mistake me!"

The reply was as ready as usual; but it was spoken rather absently.
Only that moment, he had decided on informing Phoebe (to some extent, at
least) of the purpose which he was then meditating. He would infinitely
have preferred using Mrs. Sowler as his sole accomplice. But he knew the
girl too well to run that risk. If he refused to satisfy her curiosity,
she would be deterred by no scruples of delicacy from privately watching
him; and she might say something (either by word of month or by writing)
to the kind young mistress who was in correspondence with her, which
might lead to disastrous results. It was of the last importance to him,
so far to associate Phoebe with his projected enterprise, as to give her
an interest of her own in keeping his secrets.

"I have not the least wish," he resumed, "to conceal any thing from you.
So far as I can see my way at present, you shall see it too." Reserving
in this dexterous manner the freedom of lying, whenever he found it
necessary to depart from the truth, he smiled encouragingly, and waited
to be questioned.

Phoebe repeated the inquiry she had made at the tavern. "Why do you want
to know where Mr. Ronald is buried?" she asked bluntly.

"Mr. Ronald's tombstone, my dear, will tell me the date of Mr. Ronald's
death,"