t, though, to get away
from one's pictures, this time of year, isn't it?'

He hailed a hansom as he spoke.

'That's not a difficulty that applies to me,' said Fenwick, shortly.

Cuningham stared--frowned--and remembered.

'Oh, my dear fellow--what a mistake that was!--if you'll let me say
so. Can't we put it right? Command me at any time.'

'Thank you. I prefer it as it is.'

'We'll talk it over. Well, good-bye. Don't forget old Dick.'

Fenwick walked on, fuming. Cuningham, he said to himself, was now the
type of busy, pretentious mediocrity, the type which eternally keeps
English art below the level of the Continent.

'I say--one moment! Have you had any news of the Findons lately?'

Fenwick turned sharply, and again saw Cuningham, whose hansom had been
blocked by the traffic, close to the pavement. He was hanging over the
door, and smiling.

In reply to the question, Fenwick merely shook his head.

'I had a capital letter from her ladyship a week or two ago,' said
Cuningham, raising his voice, and bringing himself as near to Fenwick
as his position allowed. 'The old fellow seems to be as fit as ever.
But Madame de Pastourelles must be very much changed.'

Fenwick said nothing. It might have been thought that the traffic
prevented his hearing Cuningham's remark. But he had heard distinctly.

'Do you know when they'll be home?' he asked, reluctantly, walking
beside the hansom.

'No--haven't an idea. I believe I'm to go to them for Easter. Ah!--now
we go on. Ta-ta!'

He waved his hand, and the hansom moved away.

Fenwick pursued his walk plunged in disagreeable thought. 'Much
changed?' What did that mean? He had noticed no such change before the
Findons left London. The words fell like a fresh blow upon a wound.

He turned north, toward Lincoln's Inn Fields, called at the offices of
Messrs. Butlin & Forbes, the well-known solicitors, and remained
there half an hour. When he emerged from the old house, he looked, if
possible, more harried and cast down than when he had entered it.

They had had a letter to show him, but in his opinion it contributed
nothing. There was no hope--and no clue! How could there be? He had
never himself imagined for a moment that any gain would come of these
new researches. But he had been allowed no option with regard to them.
Immediately after his return to London from Versailles he had received
a stern letter from Lord Findon, insisting--as his daughter had
already done-