Bashwood, whether _you_ ever had any sons and
daughters? And yet, now I think of it, I seem to fancy you said yes, you
had. Daughters, sir, weren't they? and, ah, dear! dear! to be sure! all
dead."

"I had one daughter, ma'am," said Mr. Bashwood, patiently--"only one,
who died before she was a year old."

"Only one!" repeated the sympathizing landlady. "It's as near boiling
as it ever will be, sir; give me the tea-pot. Only one! Ah, it comes
heavier (don't it?) when it's an only child? You said it was an only
child, I think, didn't you, sir?"

For a moment, Mr. Bashwood looked at the woman with vacant eyes, and
without attempting to answer her. After ignorantly recalling the memory
of the wife who had disgraced him, she was now, as ignorantly, forcing
him back on the miserable remembrance of the son who had ruined and
deserted him. For the first time, since he had told his story to
Midwinter, at their introductory interview in the great house, his mind
reverted once more to the bitter disappointment and disaster of the
past. Again he thought of the bygone days, when he had become security
for his son, and when that son's dishonesty had forced him to sell
everything he possessed to pay the forfeit that was exacted when the
forfeit was due. "I have a son, ma'am," he said, becoming conscious that
the landlady was looking at him in mute and melancholy surprise. "I did
my best to help him forward in the world, and he has behaved very badly
to me."

"Did he, now?" rejoined the landlady, with an appearance of the greatest
interest. "Behaved badly to you--almost broke your heart, didn't he? Ah,
it will come home to him, sooner or later. Don't you fear! 'Honor your
father and mother,' wasn't put on Moses's tables of stone for nothing,
Mr. Bashwood. Where may he be, and what is he doing now, sir?"

The question was in effect almost the same as the question which
Midwinter had put when the circumstances had been described to him. As
Mr. Bashwood had answered it on the former occasion, so (in nearly the
same words) he answered it now.

"My son is in London, ma'am, for all I know to the contrary. He was
employed, when I last heard of him, in no very creditable way, at the
Private Inquiry Office--"

At those words he suddenly checked himself. His face flushed, his eyes
brightened; he pushed away the cup which had just been filled for him,
and rose from his seat. The landlady started back a step. There was
something in her lo