a. She pondered, walking thoughtfully beside a rather thwarted and
impatient youth, eager to play the champion of the distressed in his own
way; and that, possibly, from more motives than one. Suddenly her face
cleared.

"I will go myself!" she said, laying her hand on her son's arm.

"Mother!"

"Yes! I'll go myself. Leave it to me, Harry. I will drive over to
Threlfall to-morrow evening--quite alone and without notice. I had some
influence with him once," she said, with her eyes on the ground.

Tatham protested warmly. The smallest allusion to any early relation
between his mother and Melrose was almost intolerable to him. But Lady
Tatham fought for her idea. She pointed out again that Melrose might very
well have some information that could be used with ghastly effect even
upon a dying man; that Netta was much attached to her father, and would
probably not make up her mind to any drastic step whatever in face of
Melrose's threats.

"I don't so much care about Mrs. Melrose," exclaimed Tatham. "We can
give her money, and make her comfortable, if it comes to that. But
it's the girl--and the hideous injustice of that fellow there--that
Faversham--ousting her from her rights--getting the old man into his
power--boning his property--and then writing hypocritical notes like
that!"

He stood before her, flushed and excited; a broad-shouldered avenger of
the sex, such as any distressed maiden might have been glad to light
upon. But again Victoria was aware that the case was not as simple as it
sounded. However, she was no less angry than he. Mother and son were on
the brink of making common cause against a grasping impostor; who was not
to be allowed to go off--either with money that did not belong to him, or
with angelic sympathies that still less belonged to him. Meanwhile on
this point, whatever may have been in their minds, they said on this
occasion not a word. Victoria pressed her plan. And in the end Tatham
most reluctantly consented that she should endeavour to force a surprise
interview with Melrose the following day.

They returned to the little drawing-room where Felicia Melrose, it
seemed, had been giving the Penfolds a difficult half hour. For as soon
as the Tathams had stepped into the garden, she had become entirely
monosyllabic; after a drive from Duddon at Harry Tatham's side, during
which, greatly to her host's surprise, she had suddenly and unexpectedly
found her tongue, talking, in a torrent of ques