t his hand, and mumbled conventionally, his
voice was a shade more husky than before.

"Oh, yes, thank you; thank you, yes."

"Now what is she thanking me for?"--queried Jonas of himself. For very
pity he felt aggrieved and sardonic, and Leo perceiving the frown, and
unable to divine its cause, was thankful anew that release was at hand.
Every interview had been worse than the previous one. She had had to go
in to the terrible old man all by herself, and be asked this and that,
and begged to remember about things which had made no impression at the
time, and been entirely wiped from memory thereafter.

Could she tell--oh, how she came to hate that ominous "Can you tell?"
seeing that she never could, and that the confession invariably elicited
the same dry little cough of dissatisfaction, followed by a pause.

What did it--what could it all mean? "Then I think I need not trouble
you further, Mrs. Stubbs," said Mr. Jonas slowly,--and Mrs. Stubbs
almost jumped from her seat.

Nothing could ever be as bad as this again. In her own old home no one
would disparage poor Godfrey by inference and solemn silences as this
grim old Jonas did. Every statement wrung out of her, even though the
same simply amounted to a non-statement, a confession of utter ignorance
and trustfulness, had somehow damned her husband in the eyes of the man
of business--but her own people would feel differently.

Godfrey had always been treated well, indeed made rather a fuss about at
Boldero Abbey. Her father would run down the steps to meet the carriage
which brought the young couple from the station on a visit. His hearty,
"Well, here you are!" would accompany the opening of the door by his own
hand. Then there would be an embrace for herself, and the further
greeting of a pleased and affectionate host for her husband.

The pleasant bustle of welcome outside would be amply followed up within
doors, where her sisters would cluster round, making as much of Godfrey
as of herself--perhaps even a little more--remembering his tastes, his
proclivities, his love of much sugar and plenty of cream in his tea, his
partiality for warmth and the blaze of a roaring fire. "Ah, you
Liverpool gentlemen, you know what comfort is!"--the general would
jocularly exclaim, the while both hands pressed his son-in-law down into
his own armchair. "I like to stand;" he would protest,--but Leonore had
a suspicion that he did not like to stand for most people.

Godfrey was