one blamed him. He had been
received in that house with open arms, had been warmed in their bosom,
and had stung them; but though they were all smarting from the sting,
they uttered no complaint. Burton had made up his mind that it would be
better to pass over the matter thus in silence--to say nothing further
of Harry Clavering. A misfortune had come upon them. They must bear it,
and go on as before. Harry had been admitted into the London office on
the footing of a paid clerk--on the same footing, indeed, as Burton
himself though with a much smaller salary and inferior work. This
position had been accorded to him of course through the Burton interest,
and it was understood that if he chose to make himself useful, he could
rise in the business as Theodore had risen. But he could only do so as
one of the Burtons. For the last three months he had declined to take
his salary, alleging that private affairs had kept him away from the
office. It was to the hands of Theodore Burton himself that such matters
came for management, and therefore there had been no necessity for
further explanation. Harry Clavering would of course leave the house,
and there would be an end of him in the records of the Burton family. He
would have come and made his mark--a terrible mark, and would have
passed on. Those whom he had bruised by his cruelty, and knocked over by
his treachery, must get to their feet again as best they could, and say
as little as might be of their fall. There are knaves in this world, and
no one can suppose that he has a special right to be exempted from their
knavery because he himself is honest. It is on the honest that the
knaves prey. That was Burton's theory in this matter. He would learn
from Cecilia how Florence was bearing herself; but to Florence herself
he would say little or nothing if she bore with patience and dignity, as
he believed she would, the calamity which had befallen her.

But he must write to his mother. The old people at Stratton must not be
left in the dark as to what was going on. He must write to his mother,
unless he could learn from his wife that Florence herself had
communicated to them at home the fact of Harry's iniquity. But he asked
no question as to this on the first night, and on the following morning
he went off having simply been told that Florence had seen Harry's
letter, that she knew all, and that she was carrying herself like an
angel.

"Not like an angel that hopes?" said Theodo