erod Butler," said Maitland, with a slow, thoughtful
enunciation.

"But if he be this youth's uncle, he never knows nor recognizes him. My
sister, Mrs. Trafford, has the whole story of these people, and will be
charmed to tell it to you."

"I have no curiosity in the matter," said Maitland, languidly. "The
world is really so very small that by the time a man reaches my age
he knows every one that is to be known in it. And so," said he, as he
looked again at the letter, "he went off, after sending you the letter?"

"Yes, he left this the same day."

"And where for?"

"I never asked. The girls, I suppose, know all about his movements. I
overhear mutterings about poor Tony at every turn. Tell me, Maitland,"
added he, with more earnestness, "is this letter a thing I can notice?
Is it not a regular provocation?"

"It is, and it is not," said Maitland, as he lighted a cigar, puffing
the smoke leisurely between his words. "If he were a man that you would
chance upon at every moment, meet at your club, or sit opposite at
dinner, the thing would fester into a sore in its own time; but here
is a fellow, it may be, that you 'll never see again, or if so, but on
distant terms, I 'd say, put the document with your tailor's bills, and
think no more of it."

Lyle nodded an assent, and was silent.

"I say, Lyle," added Maitland, after a moment, "I'd advise you never to
speak of the fellow,--never discuss him. If your sisters bring up his
name, let it drop unnoticed; it is the only way to put the tombstone on
such memories. What is your dinner-hour here?"

"Late enough, even for you,--eight."

"That _is_ civilized. I 'll come down--at least, to-day," said he, after
a brief pause; "and now leave me."

When Lyle withdrew, Maitland leaned on the window-sill, and ranged
his eyes over the bold coast-line beneath him. It was not, however,
to admire the bold promontory of Fairhead, or the sweeping shore that
shelved at its base; nor was it to gaze on the rugged outline of those
perilous rocks which stretched from the Causeway far into the open sea.
His mind was far, far away from the spot, deep in cares and wiles
and schemes; for his was an intriguing head, and had its own store of
knaveries.

CHAPTER V. IN LONDON

Seeking one's fortune is a very gambling sort of affair. It is leaving
so much to chance, trusting so implicitly to what is called "luck," that
it makes all individual exertion a merely secondary process,--a kin