Mr. Kingston watched and listened, with smiling self-possession. Finding that he was not to see Rachel, nor to get any fresh information, he did not prolong the interview. He had no confidence in Mrs. Hardy--few men had, in matters of this kind. He received her communications in a friendly manner, as one receives an embassy under a flag of truce; he never thought of allowing himself to be influenced by them one way or the other, or of asking her assistance and advice. As soon as courtesy permitted, he bowed himself out of her presence, with magnanimous expressions of good-will and a request that nothing might be be said or done to distress or embarrass Rachel. And then he got into his cab thoughtfully, and went to South Yarra to call on Mrs. Reade. It was not one of this young lady's reception days, as no one knew better than himself; nor had she left her house in pursuit of tea and gossip at other people's "afternoons," as he half expected would be the case. The sprightly maid-servant (all Mrs. Reade's servants were maids, and all of them sprightly), who opened the door to his thundering knock, recognising a privileged friend of the family, admitted him with alacrity; and he walked into the drawing-room and found his hostess sitting there alone, nestling in one of her seductive low chairs with an open letter on her knee. She, too, had just received the news of Rachel's escapade; the letter, full of dashing and incoherent sentences, was in Mrs. Hardy's handwriting, and had arrived half an hour ago from Toorak. But there were no signs of excitement and discomposure about this little person, who rose to meet him, looking cool and bright, with even the suspicion of a twinkle in her eyes. "Have you come for a gossip?" she asked, looking up at him with friendly frankness. "Because if you have you had better send your cab away. I am going out at five o'clock, and I'll drive you into town." The cab was sent away; and Mr. Kingston, with a feeling of comfort and safety about him, sat down in a bow-windowed recess, in his favourite of all the cunningly-devised chairs, and with his elbows on his knees, began to fiddle with the top of a silk sock, at the toe of which his companion was now knitting industriously. "Is this for Ned?" he inquired, after a pause. "Now, isn't that a superfluous question?" she replied, holding it up. "Look at the size of it. Could any foot but his fill out that enormous bag? Of course it is for Ned. Don't you know it is the new fashion for wives to knit their husband's socks? One must be in the fashion, even if one's husband is a giant." "Very nice for one's husband. It seems beautifully soft; pretty colour, too." Then, after a pause, "Does Rachel know how to knit?"