She was round at Lane’s office early the next morning. Mrs. Morrice had not appeared at breakfast, but Rosabelle noticed at dinner the night before, and afterwards when they were together in the drawing-room, that her manner had appeared anxious and preoccupied. It could not be said of Lane at any time that he was a man whom you could read like an open book, but she was sure the information made a great impression on him. As was his custom after an important communication had been made to him, he sat silent for some little time. “And you have said nothing about this to your uncle, or Mr. Croxton?” he asked at length. “I am so far the only person to whom you have revealed it?” “Because I thought you ought to know,” answered the girl frankly. “My uncle ought to be told, I feel that, but I shrink from telling him; it might create an irreparable breach between them, and I should be very grieved to be the cause of it. I think, or rather I am sure, that my aunt has not the same affection for me that she had before the arrival of Archie, but that is only natural, and not a thing to be resented. She has always shown me unvarying kindness, and made my life in Deanery Street very happy. And you know, Mr. Lane, it is not every woman who would have done that in the circumstances. For my dear uncle has been always very demonstrative in his love for me, and it might have aroused the jealousy of a great many wives.” What a sweet-natured, tolerant-minded girl she was, her listener thought. Then he said decisively: “Certainly Mr. Morrice ought to know. You would object to my telling him, I suppose?” Yes, Rosabelle shrank from that. “It would come to the same thing, would it not? He would want to know where you got your information from, and you would have to tell him. I might as well do it myself. Besides, I expect he would be very angry with me for having told you at all. He is a very proud man in certain things.” Yes, there was a good deal of shrewdness in that remark. He might be able to get through it without bringing her in, for he was a man of infinite resources, but although by no means scrupulous when driven to use subterfuge, he did not employ tortuous methods if it was possible to avoid them. “Tell me, Miss Sheldon, what do you know of your aunt’s affairs? Has she money of her own?” “I should say very little. I have more than once heard her jokingly allude to her ‘paltry income.’ But I know my uncle makes her a very handsome allowance, although I don’t know the precise amount. And he is always making her presents of valuable and expensive jewellery.” It was evident, by his serious look, that he was thinking very deeply. “That allowance, of course, he makes her for her own personal needs, and to maintain her proper position as the wife of a wealthy man. If he knew that she was diverting any, or a considerable portion, of this money to supplying this young man’s extravagant needs, you are of opinion he would be greatly incensed.”