ther
tiring at my age."

"One word before I leave you," said Percival. "On reflection, I think it
will be as well to say nothing about my presence in England to this Mr.
Fenton. I shall be more free to hunt for Marian without his co-operation,
even supposing he were inclined to give it. You have told me all that he
could tell me, I daresay."

"I believe I have."

"Precisely. Therefore no possible good could come of an encounter between
him and me, and I shall be glad if you will keep my name dark."

"As you please, though I can see no reason for secrecy in the matter."

"It is not a question of secrecy, but only of prudential reserve."

"It may be as you wish," answered the old man, carelessly. "Good-night."

He shook hands with his son, who departed without having broken bread in
his father's house, a little dashed by the coldness of his reception, but
not entirely without hope that some profit might arise to him out of this
connection in the future.

"The girl must be found," he said to himself. "I am convinced there has
been a great fortune made in that dingy hole. Better that it should go to
her than to a stranger. I'm very sorry she's married; but if this
Holbrook is the adventurer I suppose him, the marriage may come to
nothing. Yes; I must find her. A father returned from foreign lands is
rather a romantic notion--the sort of notion a girl is pretty sure to
take kindly to."

CHAPTER XV.

ON THE TRACK.

Gilbert Fenton saw no more of his friend John Saltram after that Sunday
evening which they had spent together in Cavendish-square. He called upon
Mrs. Branston before the week was ended, and was so fortunate as to find
that lady alone; Mrs. Pallinson having gone on a shopping expedition in
her kinswoman's dashing brougham.

The pretty little widow received Gilbert very graciously; but there was a
slight shade of melancholy in her manner, a pensiveness which softened
and refined her, Gilbert thought. Nor was it long before she allowed him
to discover the cause of her sadness. After a little conventional talk
upon indifferent subjects, she began to speak of John Saltram.

"Have you seen much of your friend Mr. Saltram since Sunday?" she asked,
with that vain endeavour to speak carelessly with which a woman generally
betrays her real feeling.

"I have not seen him at all since Sunday. He told me he was going back to
Oxford--or the neighbourhood of Oxford, I believe--almost immediately;
and I