to do, he asked abruptly. "Is Mr. Percy a client of yours?"

"I can hardly say that," the lawyer answered, surprised by the question.

"I met him going out," Maurice went on.

Mr. Payne rubbed his hands.

"It is no secret," he said; "I may tell you, I suppose. He called about
some points in a marriage settlement."

Maurice felt his heart give a great leap.

"Whose?" he asked sharply.

Mr. Payne again looked surprised.

"His own, certainly. He is going to marry a daughter of the Earl of
C----, and I had the honour of being employed by the late Countess's
family, from whom her ladyship derives what fortune she has. It is not
very large," he added, dropping from his dignified tone into a more
confidential one.

Maurice was silent for a minute. His sensations were curious; divided
between joy that Lucia was certainly free in _this_ quarter, and a
vehement desire to knock down, horsewhip, or otherwise ill-use the
Honourable Edward Percy. Of course, this was a savage impulse, only
worthy of a half-civilized backwoodsman, but happily he kept it down out
of sight, and his companion filled up the pause.

"The marriage is to take place in a week. The engagement has been
hastily got up, they say, at last; though there was some talk of it a
year ago. He does not seem particularly eager about it now."

"What is he marrying her for?" was Maurice's next question, put with an
utter disregard of all possibilities of sentiment in the matter--the man
whom Lucia _might_ have loved could not but be indifferent to all other
women.

"It's not a bad match," Mr. Payne answered, putting his head on one side
as if to consider it critically. "Not much money, but a good
connection--excellent."

Whereupon they dismissed Percy and his affairs, and went to work.

Late that night, for no reason but because he could not rest in London,
Maurice started for Liverpool. The steamer did not sail till afternoon,
and there would have been plenty of time for him to go down in the
morning; but he chose do otherwise, and consequently found himself in
the streets of Liverpool in the miserable cold darkness of the winter
dawn. Of course, there was nothing to be done then, but go to a hotel
and get some breakfast and such warmth as was to be had. He felt cross
and miserable, and half wished he had stayed in London.

However the fire burnt up, breakfast came, and the dingy fog began to
roll away a little from before the windows. He went out and wal