of books and
the wall. Don't you think so, Lady Carmian?" (to the lady on his other
side). "I assure you I have made the most delightful discoveries of this
description. Cheap editions of Ouida, Balzac's works, yellow backs of
the most advanced order, will, as a rule, reward the inquirer, who
otherwise might have had to content himself with 'The Heir of
Redclyffe,' the Lily Series, and Miss Strickland's 'Queens of England.'"

Charles's last speech had been made in a momentary silence, and directly
it was finished every woman, old and young, except Lady Carmian and
Ruth, simultaneously raised a disclaiming voice, which by its vehemence
at once showed what an unfounded assertion Charles had made. Lady
Carmian, a handsome young married woman, only smiled languidly, and,
turning the bracelet on her arm, told Charles he was a cynic, and that
for her own part, when in robust health, she liked what little she read
"strong;" but in illness, or when Lord Carmian had been unusually
trying, she always fell back on a milk-and-water diet. Mrs. Thursby,
however, felt that Charles had struck a blow at the sanctity of home
life, and (for she was one of those persons whose single talent is that
of giving a personal turn to any remark) began a long monotonous recital
of the books she allowed her own daughters to read, and how they were
kept, which proved the extensive range of her library, not in
book-shelves, but in a sliding book-stand, which contracted or expanded
at will.

Long before she had finished, however, the conversation at the other end
of the table had drifted away to the topic of the season among sporting
men, namely the poachers, who, since their raid on Dare's property, had
kept fairly quiet, but who were sure to start afresh now that the
pheasant shooting had begun; and from thence to the recent forgery case
in America, which was exciting every day greater attention in England,
especially since one of the accomplices had been arrested the day before
in Birmingham station, and the principal offender, though still at
large, was, according to the papers, being traced "by means of a clew in
the possession of the police."

Charles knew how little that sentence meant, but he found that it
required an effort to listen unmoved to the various conjectures as to
the whereabouts of Stephens, in which Ruth, as the conversation became
general, also joined, volunteering a suggestion that perhaps he might be
lurking somewhere in Slum