m the soiree of learned
people, and had brought Roger Carbury with her. They both came up to
the drawing-room and found Paul and Henrietta together. It need hardly
be said that they were both surprised. Roger supposed that Montague
was still at Liverpool, and, knowing that he was not a frequent
visitor in Welbeck Street, could hardly avoid a feeling that a meeting
between the two had now been planned in the mother's absence. The
reader knows that it was not so. Roger certainly was a man not liable
to suspicion, but the circumstances in this case were suspicious.
There would have been nothing to suspect,--no reason why Paul should not
have been there,--but from the promise which had been given. There was,
indeed, no breach of that promise proved by Paul's presence in Welbeck
Street; but Roger felt rather than thought that the two could hardly
have spent the evening together without such breach. Whether Paul had
broken the promise by what he had already said the reader must be left
to decide.

Lady Carbury was the first to speak. 'This is quite an unexpected
pleasure, Mr Montague.' Whether Roger suspected anything or not, she
did. The moment she saw Paul the idea occurred to her that the meeting
between Hetta and him had been preconcerted.

'Yes,' he said making a lame excuse, where no excuse should have been
made,--'I had nothing to do, and was lonely, and thought that I would
come up and see you.' Lady Carbury disbelieved him altogether, but
Roger felt assured that his coming in Lady Carbury's absence had been
an accident. The man had said so, and that was enough.

'I thought you were at Liverpool,' said Roger.

'I came back to-day,--to be present at that Board in the city. I have had
a good deal to trouble me. I will tell you all about it just now. What
has brought you to London?'

'A little business,' said Roger.

Then there was an awkward silence. Lady Carbury was angry, and hardly
knew whether she ought not to show her anger. For Henrietta it was
very awkward. She, too, could not but feel that she had been caught,
though no innocence could be whiter than hers. She knew well her
mother's mind, and the way in which her mother's thoughts would run.
Silence was frightful to her, and she found herself forced to speak.
'Have you had a pleasant evening, mamma?'

'Have you had a pleasant evening, my dear?' said Lady Carbury,
forgetting herself in her desire to punish her daughter.

'Indeed, no,' said Hetta, attemp