The grave-looking footman and the somewhat surly driver of the cab exchanged a quick glance. Immediately afterwards the footman named eight shillings in a voice of authority. "Preposterous!" said Mrs. Dolman, "but I suppose I must pay it, or, rather, you can pay it for me; I'll settle with you afterwards." "Am I to acquaint my master that you have come, madam?" "No; on second thoughts I should prefer to announce myself. Where did you say Mr. Delaney was?" "In his private study." "I know that room well. See that my luggage is taken to a bedroom, and pay the driver." Mrs. Dolman entered the old house briskly. It felt quiet, remarkably quiet, seeing that there was a large staff of servants and four vigorous, healthy children to occupy it. "Poor little orphans, I suppose they are dreadfully overcome," thought the good lady to herself. "Well, I am glad I have appeared on the scene. Poor David is just the sort of man who would forget everybody else when he is in a state of grief. Of course I know he was passionately attached to Evangeline, and she certainly was a charming, although _quite_ incapable, creature. I suppose she was what would be termed 'a man's woman.' Now, I have never any patience with them, and when I think of those acres of land and--but, dear me! sometimes a matter-of-fact, plain body like myself is useful in an emergency. The emergency has arrived with a vengeance, and I am determined to take the fortress by storm." The little lady trotted down one or two passages, then turned abruptly to her left, and knocked at a closed door. A voice said, "Come in." She opened the door and entered. A man was standing with his back to her in the deep embrasure of a mullioned window. His hands were clasped behind his back; he was looking fixedly out. The window was wide open. "There, David, there! I knew you would take it hard; but have the goodness to turn round and speak to me," said Mrs. Dolman. When he heard these unexpected words, the master of Delaney Manor turned with a visible start. "My dear Jane, what have you come for?" he exclaimed. He advanced to meet his sister, dismay evident on every line of his face. "I knew you would not welcome me, David. Oh, no prevarications! if you please. It is awful to think how many lies people tell in the cause of politeness. When I undertook this wearisome journey from the north of England, I knew I should not be welcome, but all the same I came; and, David, when I have had a little talk with you, and when you have unburdened your heart to me, you will feel your sorrow less." "I would rather not touch on that subject," said Mr. Delaney. He offered his sister a chair very quietly, and took another himself.