anxiety; his mouth expressed a nervousness of which
formerly there had been no trace. One would have said that some
harassing preoccupation must have seized his mind. His eyes were no
longer merely sad and absent, but restless with fatiguing thought. As
Jane entered the room he fixed his gaze upon her--a gaze that appeared
to reveal worrying apprehension.

'You remember Mr. Percival, Jane,' he said.

The old gentleman thus presented held out his hand with something of
fatherly geniality.

'Miss Snowdon, I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again before
long, but just now I am carrying off your grandfather for a couple of
hours, and indeed we mustn't linger that number of minutes. You look
well, I think?'

He stood and examined her intently, then cried:

'Come, my dear sir, come! we shall be late.'

Snowdon was already prepared for walking. He spoke a few words to Jane,
then followed Mr. Percival downstairs.

Flurried by the encounter, Jane stood looking about her. Then came a
rush of disappointment as she reflected that the visitor of Wednesday
evenings would call in vain. Hearing that her grandfather was absent,
doubtless he would take his leave at once. Or, would he--

In a minute or two she ran downstairs to exchange a word with Mrs.
Byass. On entering the kitchen she was surprised to see Bessie sitting
idly by the fire. At this hour it was usual for Mr. Byass to have
returned, and there was generally an uproar of laughing talk. This
evening, dead silence, and a noticeable something in the air which told
of trouble. The baby--of course a new baby--lay in a bassinette near
its mother, seemingly asleep; the other child was sitting in a high
chair by the table, clattering 'bricks.'

Bessie did not even look round.

'Is Mr. Byass late?' inquired Jane, in an apprehensive voice.

'He's somewhere in the house, I believe,' was the answer, in monotone.

'Oh dear!' Jane recognised a situation which had already come under her
notice once or twice during the last six months She drew near, and
asked in a low voice:

'What's happened, Mrs. Byass?'

'He's a beast! If he doesn't mind I shall go and leave him. I mean it!'

Bessie was in a genuine fit of sullenness. One of her hands was
clenched below her chin; her pretty lips were not pretty at all; her
brow was rumpled. Jane began to seek for the cause of dissension, to
put affectionate questions, to use her voice soothingly.

'He's a beast!' was Bessie's re