tter, and therefore I have taken the trouble to come to town." As
he said this he endeavoured, no doubt, to assert his own dignity by
the look which he assumed. Nor did he intend that Mr Gordon should
know anything of the struggle which he had endured.

But Mr Gordon knew as well what Mr Whittlestaff had to say as did
Mr Whittlestaff himself. He had turned the matter over in his own
mind since the letter had reached him, and was aware that there could
be no other cause for seeing him which could bring Mr Whittlestaff
up to London. But a few days since he had made an appeal to Mr
Whittlestaff--an appeal which certainly might require much thought
for its answer--and here was Mr Whittlestaff with his reply. It
could not have been made quicker. It was thus that John Gordon had
thought of it as he had turned Mr Whittlestaff's letter over in his
mind. The appeal had been made readily enough. The making of it had
been easy; the words to be spoken had come quickly, and without the
necessity for a moment's premeditation. He had known it all, and from
a full heart the mouth speaks. But was it to have been expected that
a man so placed as had been Mr Whittlestaff, should be able to give
his reply with equal celerity? He, John Gordon, had seen at once
on reaching Croker's Hall the state in which things were. Almost
hopelessly he had made his appeal to the man who had her promise.
Then he had met the man at Mr Hall's house, and hardly a word had
passed between them. What word could have been expected? Montagu
Blake, with all his folly, had judged rightly in bringing them
together. When he received the letter, John Gordon had remembered
that last word which Mr Whittlestaff had spoken to him in the
squire's hall. He had thought of the appeal, and had resolved to
give an answer to it. It was an appeal which required an answer. He
had turned it over in his mind, and had at last told himself what
the answer should be. John Gordon had discovered all that when he
received the letter, and it need hardly be said that his feelings
in regard to Mr Whittlestaff were very much kinder than those of Mr
Whittlestaff to him.

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind coming out into the street," said Mr
Whittlestaff. "I can't say very well what I've got to say in here."

"Certainly," said Gordon; "I will go anywhere."

"Let us go into the Park. It is green there, and there is some shade
among the trees." Then they went out of the club into Pall Mall, and
Mr W