“I thought you were gone,” Mrs. Romayne said lightly. “What are you doing in town to-day, may one ask, when you were booked to start for Norway yesterday?” “Business,” he returned in a tone which addressed the whole company rather than any member of it individually. “I am investing in a Scotch moor, and I can’t leave London till I have signed and sealed.” There was a delicate implication of wealth about the statement which seemed to give a curious fillip to the conversation; and an animated discussion ensued on Scotland, its charms and its disadvantages. Mrs. Romayne held her part in the discussion with unfailing readiness, and as the subject exhausted itself she rose to take leave. She said good-bye in her usual charming manner to her hostess, and to Mrs. Pomeroy and her daughter, and then she turned to Loring. “By-the-bye,” she said carelessly, “I’ve a piece of property of yours in the carriage. Did you know you had lost something when you called the other day? No, I shan’t tell you what it is, you very careless person! But I’ll give it you if you like to come down for it.” She turned away; Loring followed her perforce; and there was an ugly smile on his face as he did so. At the foot of the stairs she paused; then with a quick glance towards an open door which led into a dining room, she went rapidly towards it, signing to him to follow her. Once within the room, she turned and faced him. She was smiling still, but the smile was stiff and mechanical, and her eyes, as she fixed them on his face, were desperately anxious. There was a curious ring of conscious helplessness and reliance on the man to whom she spoke, about her voice as she began to speak. “I wanted to speak to you,” she said. “I’m so glad to see you. I’m rather perplexed. Julian has taken it into his head to stop in town, or, rather, close to town. He won’t go abroad; he won’t visit. Can you tell me the reason? Will you try and find out the reason? May I rely on you? But of course I know I may.” There was a tone almost of relief in her voice, as if in the mere making of the confidence, in the sense of companionship and support it gave her, she found some sort of ease. And Loring smiled again as he met her eyes. “I’m sorry to have to dispel an illusion which is so flattering to me,” he said, with the slightest possible accentuation of his usual quiet cynicism of manner. “But it’s useless to assume that I can be of any further service to you.” He stopped, watching with keen, relentless eyes the effect of his words. A startled look came to the face turned towards him. The eyebrows were lifted and contracted with a quick movement of perplexity. Evidently she believed that she had not fully understood him, for she did not speak, and he went on: “Your son and I have quarrelled. He has insulted me grossly. For the future we are strangers to one another. Consequently you will see that I shall be no longer able to keep him out of mischief.”