the house,
remembering well that he had been warned by the master not to do so in
the master's absence. His mother, however, went to Lady Clavering, and
some intercourse between the families was renewed. He had intended to
stay but one day after the funeral, but at the end of a week he was
still at the rectory. It was Whitsuntide he said, and he might as well
take his holiday as he was down there. Of course they were glad that he
should remain with them, but they did not fail to perceive that things
with him were not altogether right; nor had Fanny failed to perceive
that he had not once mentioned Florence's name since he had been at the
rectory.

"Harry," she said, "there is nothing wrong between you and Florence?"

"Wrong! what should there be wrong? What do you mean by wrong?"

"I had a letter from her to-day, and she asks where you are."

"Women expect such a lot of letter-writing! But I have been remiss I
know. I got out of my business way of doing things when I came down here
and have neglected it. Do you write to her to-morrow, and tell her that
she shall hear from me directly I get back to town."

"But why should you not write to her from here?"

"Because I can get you to do it for me."

Fanny felt that this was not at all like a lover, and not at all like
such a lover as her brother had been. While Florence had been at
Clavering he had been most constant with his letters, and Fanny had
often heard Florence boast of them as being perfect in their way. She
did not say anything further at the present moment, but she knew that
things were not altogether right. Things were by no means right. He had
written neither to Lady Ongar nor to Florence, and the longer he put off
the task the more burdensome did it become. He was now telling himself
that he would write to neither till he got back to London.

On the day before he went, there came to him a letter from Stratton.
Fanny was with him when he received it, and observed that he put it into
his pocket without opening it. In his pocket he carried it unopened half
the day, till he was ashamed of his own weakness. At last, almost in
despair with himself, he broke the seal and forced himself to read it.
There was nothing in it that need have alarmed him. It contained hardly
a word that was intended for a rebuke.

"I wonder why you should have been two whole weeks without writing," she
said. "It seems so odd to me, because you have spoiled me by your
customary goo