ven the usual address of Nethercoats, nothing
further would have been demanded from him on that subject. But he
had foolishly presumed that the question had been based on special
information as to his client's visit to London, and he had told the
plain truth in a very simple way.

"Number 5, Suffolk Street," said Vavasor, writing down the address.
"Perhaps it will be better that I should go to him, as you do not
seem inclined to give me any information." Then he took up his hat,
and hardly bowing to Mr Tombe, left the chambers. Mr Tombe, as he
did so, rose from his chair, and bent his head meekly down upon the
table.

"Pinkle, Pinkle," wheezed Mr Tombe. "Never mind; never mind." Pinkle
didn't mind; and we may say that he had not minded; for up to that
moment he had taken no steps towards a performance of the order which
had been given him.

CHAPTER LII

What Occurred in Suffolk Street, Pall Mall

Mr Tombe had gained nothing for the cause by his crafty silence.
George Vavasor felt perfectly certain, as he walked out from the
little street which runs at the back of Doctors' Commons, that the
money which he had been using had come, in some shape, through the
hands of John Grey. He did not care much to calculate whether the
payments had been made from the personal funds of his rival, or
whether that rival had been employed to dispense Alice's fortune.
Under either view of the case his position was sufficiently bitter.
The truth never for a moment occurred to him. He never dreamed that
there might be a conspiracy in the matter, of which Alice was as
ignorant as he himself had been. He never reflected that his uncle
John, together with John, the lover, whom he so hated, might be the
conspirators. To him it seemed to be certain that Alice and Mr Grey
were in league;--and if they were in league, what must he think of
Alice, and of her engagement with himself!

There are men who rarely think well of women,--who hardly think
well of any woman. They put their mothers and sisters into the
background,--as though they belonged to some sex or race apart,--and
then declare to themselves and to their friends that all women are
false,--that no woman can be trusted unless her ugliness protect
her; and that every woman may be attacked as fairly as may game in a
cover, or deer on a mountain, What man does not know men who have
so thought? I cannot say that such had been Vavasor's creed,--not
entirely such. There had been pe