r.

He was perfectly dressed: his hat and gloves were models of what such
things ought to be; he was melancholy and courteous; blandly distrustful
of the flying skirts which he had seen at the door. When Amelius offered
him a chair, he took it with a mysterious sigh; mournfully resigned
to the sad necessity of sitting down. "I won't prolong my intrusion on
you," he resumed. "You have no doubt seen the melancholy news in the
evening papers?"

"I haven't seen the evening papers," Amelius answered; "what news do you
mean?"

Mr. Melton leaned back in his chair, and expressed emotions of sorrow
and surprise, in a perfect state of training, by gently raising his
smooth white hands.

"Oh dear, dear! this is very sad. I had hoped to find you in full
possession of the particulars--reconciled, as we must all be, to the
inscrutable ways of Providence. Permit me to break it to you as gently
as possible. I came here to inquire if you had heard yet from Miss
Regina. Understand my motive! there must be no misapprehension between
us on that subject. There is a very serious necessity--pray follow
me carefully--I say, a very serious necessity for my communicating
immediately with Miss Regina's uncle; and I know of nobody who is so
likely to hear from the travellers, so soon after their departure, as
yourself. You are, in a certain sense, a member of the family--"

"Stop a minute," said Amelius.

"I beg your pardon?" said Mr. Melton politely, at a loss to understand
the interruption.

"I didn't at first know what you meant," Amelius explained. "You put it,
if you will forgive me for saying so, in rather a roundabout way. If you
are alluding, all this time, to Mrs. Farnaby's death, I must honestly
tell you that I know of it already."

The bland self-possession of Mr. Melton's face began to show signs
of being ruffled. He had been in a manner deluded into exhibiting his
conventionally fluent eloquence, in the choicest modulations of his
sonorous voice--and it wounded his self esteem to be placed in his
present position. "I understood you to say," he remarked stiffly, "that
you had not seen the evening newspapers."

"You are quite right," Amelius rejoined; "I have not seen them."

"Then may I inquire," Mr. Melton proceeded, "how you became informed of
Mrs. Farnaby's death?"

Amelius replied with his customary frankness. "I went to call on the
poor lady this morning," he said, "knowing nothing of what had happened.
I met the do