ards her:

"I have had a bolt from the blue, Rose. That man, Hewitt, whom I trusted
as I would myself, has absconded. It is thought he has been playing
wildly with my money, and that this crisis in South America has been the
last blow. I shan't know yet if I am ruined completely or not."

"Oh, Edmund, how dreadful!"

"Don't pity me, dear, it's not worth while. It only means that one of
the unemployed will get to work at last. That is, if he can find a job.
But I must hurry home at once and leave you to follow. If I put back
into Genoa now I can leave by the night express. And you and your mother
had better go on to Marseilles in the yacht after you have dropped me."

CHAPTER XXII

SOMETHING LIKE EVIDENCE

Mr. Murray Junior's step sounded heavy, and his head was a little more
bent than usual, as he passed down the passage into his sanctum. The
snow, turning to rain and then reasserting itself and insisting that it
would be snow, was dreary enough already when the fog set in firmly and
without compromise. There was a good fire in the sanctum; the electric
light was on, and the clean sheet of blotting-paper, fresh every
morning, lay on the table.

But Mr. Murray, Junior, was struggling for a few moments to realize
where he was, for his mind was in such different surroundings. In his
thoughts it was June--not June sweltering in London, but June gone mad
with roses in a tiny Surrey garden; and with true realism his memory
chose just one rose-tree out of them all, which best implied the glory
of the others. And one branch of this tree was bent down by a girl's
hand; her arm, from which a cotton sleeve had fallen back, was
wonderfully white, and the roses wonderfully red.

And the office boy, slowly pulling off one damp, well-made boot and then
the other over the gouty toes, was the only person who noticed that "the
governor" was awfully down in the mouth.

But no one knew that in Mr. Murray Junior's pocket was a letter from a
great specialist, who had seen Mr. Murray Junior's wife the day
before,--and what that letter said has nothing to do with this story.

Sir Edmund called about mid-day, and noticed nothing unusual in the
heavy face; only it struck him that Murray was looking old, and he
wondered on which side of seventy the lawyer might be.

Grosse's visit was the first real distraction the older man had that
day. It was impossible for the solicitor not to be interested in the
probability that Edmund