ou are! I knew that you would help me;
but tell me first why you have never been to Cavendish-square in all this
long time. I fear I was right; you have been ill, have you not?"

"Not exactly ill, but very much worried and overworked."

A light dawned on Adela Branston's troubled mind. She began to think that
Mr. Saltram's strange absent manner, his apparent indifference to her
presence, might arise from preoccupation, caused by those pecuniary
difficulties from which the Pallinsons declared him so constant a
sufferer. Yes, she told herself, it was trouble of this kind that
oppressed him, that had banished him from her all this time. He was too
generous to repair his shattered fortunes by means of her money; he was
too proud to confess his fallen state.

A tender pity took possession of her. All that was most sentimental in
her nature was awakened by the idea of John Saltram's generosity. What
was the use of her fortune, if she could not employ it for the relief of
the man she loved?

"You are so kind to me, Mr. Saltram," she faltered, after a troubled
pause; "so ready to help me in my perplexities, I only wish you would
allow me to be of some use to you in yours, if you have any perplexities;
and I suppose everybody has, of some kind or other. I should be so proud
if you would give me your confidence--so proud and happy!" Her voice
trembled a little as she said this, looking up at him all the while with
soft confiding blue eyes, the fair delicate face looking its prettiest in
the coquettish widow's head-gear.

A man must have been harder of heart than John Saltram who could remain
unmoved by a tenderness so evident. This man was touched, and deeply. The
pale careworn face grew more troubled, the firmly-moulded lips quivered
ever so little, as he looked down at the widow's pleading countenance;
and then he turned his head aside with a sudden half-impatient movement.

"My dear Mrs. Branston, you are too good to me; I am unworthy, I am in
every way unworthy of your kindness."

"You are not unworthy, and that is no answer to my question; only an
excuse to put me off. We are such old friends, Mr. Saltram, you might
trust me. You own that you have been worried--overworked--worried about
money matters, perhaps. I know that gentlemen are generally subject to
that kind of annoyance; and you know how rich I am, how little
employment I have for my money, though you can never imagine how
worthless and useless it seems to me