hem again.

The masculine duet had more result, but was not conducted with the
_finesse_ that Mr. Eppington, who prided himself on his diplomacy, had
intended. Indeed, so evidently ill at ease was that gentleman, when the
moment came for talk, and so palpably were his pointless remarks mere
efforts to delay an unpleasant subject, that Blake, always direct bluntly
though not ill-naturedly asked him, "How much?"

Mr. Eppington was disconcerted.

"It's not that--at least that's not what I have come about," he answered
confusedly.

"What have you come about?"

Inwardly Mr. Eppington cursed himself for a fool, for the which he was
perhaps not altogether without excuse. He had meant to act the part of a
clever counsel, acquiring information while giving none; by a blunder, he
found himself in the witness-box.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," was the feeble response, "merely looked in to see
how Edith was."

"Much the same as at dinner last night, when you were here," answered
Blake. "Come, out with it."

It seemed the best course now, and Mr. Eppington took the plunge.

"Don't you think," he said, unconsciously glancing round the room to be
sure they were alone, "that young Sennett is a little too much about the
house?"

Blake stared at him.

"Of course, we know it is all right--as nice a young fellow as ever
lived--and Edith--and all that. Of course, it's absurd, but--"

"But what?"

"Well, people will talk."

"What do they say?"

The other shrugged his shoulders.

Blake rose. He had an ugly look when angry, and his language was apt to
be coarse.

"Tell them to mind their own business, and leave me and my wife alone."
That was the sense of what he said; he expressed himself at greater
length, and in stronger language.

"But, my dear Blake," urged Mr. Eppington, "for your own sake, is it
wise? There was a sort of boy and girl attachment between them--nothing
of any moment, but all that gives colour to gossip. Forgive me, but I am
her father; I do not like to hear my child talked about."

"Then don't open your ears to the chatter of a pack of fools," replied
his son-in-law roughly. But the next instant a softer expression passed
over his face, and he laid his hand on the older man's arm.

"Perhaps there are many more, but there's one good woman in the world,"
he said, "and that's your daughter. Come and tell me that the Bank of
England is getting shaky on its legs, and I'll listen to you."

But th