, half
rising.

"Your brother."

Miriam took the paper, and read what was indicated. It was the report
of a discreditable affair--in journalistic language, a _fracas_--that
had happened the previous night at Notting Hill. A certain music-hall
singer, a lady who had of late achieved popularity, drove home about
midnight, accompanied by a gentleman whose name was also familiar to
the public--at all events, to that portion of it which reads society
journals and has an interest in race-horses. The pair had just alighted
at the house-door, when they were hurriedly approached by another
gentleman, who made some remark to the songstress; whereupon the
individual known to fame struck him smartly with his walking-stick. The
result was a personal conflict, a rolling upon the pavement, a tearing
of shirt-collars, and the opportune arrival of police. The gentleman
whose interference had led to the _rencontre_--again to borrow the
reporter's phrase--and who was charged with assault by the other, at
first gave a false name; it had since transpired that he was a Mr. R.
Elgar, of Belsize Park.

Miriam laid down the paper. She had overcome her extreme agitation, but
there was hot shame on her cheeks. She tried to smile.

"One would think he had contrived it for his wife's greeting on her
return."

Eleanor was silent.

"I am not much surprised," Miriam added. "Nor you either, I dare say?"

"I have felt uneasy; but I never pictured anything like this. Can we do
anything? Shall you go and see him?"

"No."

They sat for some minutes without speaking; then Miriam exclaimed
angrily:

"What right had she to go abroad alone?"

"For anything we know, Miriam, she may have had only too good a reason."

"Then I don't see that it matters."

Eleanor sighed, and, after a little lingering, but without further
speech, went from the room.

In the meantime, Spence had entered the house. Eleanor met him in the
drawing-room, and held the paper to him, with a silent indication of
the paragraph. He read, and with an exclamation of violent disgust
threw the thing aside. His philosophy failed him for once.

"What a blackguardly affair! Does Miriam know?"

"I have just shown it her. Evidently she had a suspicion of what was
going on."

Spence muttered a little; then regained something of his usual
equanimity.

"Our conjectures may be right," he said. "Perhaps no revelation awaits
her."

"I begin to think it very likely. Oh, it is hate