"Well, then, if you write by this mail for a copy, and it is sent by return mail, if he has not turned up in the mean time, and things go on well here, I think you had better put the matter into the hands of the police. It is true you do not know whether Arthur is in England now, or abroad; but the last place in which you know him to have been is London, and from that information they must work." "True," said Mr. Felton; and then continued, in a slow reluctant tone, "I shrink from it, I confess. A matter which is placed in the hands of the police always implies something disgraceful; and though I don't expect to find that Arthur has disposed of his time and his money very creditably, I don't like to make so sure of it as I feel convinced a close investigation will make me." Mr. Felton spoke with some agitation, and George thrilled with a mingled feeling of pity and dread, he did not know of what. But he said, cheerily: "Well, sir, let us hope there will be no occasion for making any such investigation. You can't have an answer for nearly three weeks, and a great deal may happen in that time. Arthur may be here long before then, to answer for himself, and laugh at us for our anxiety about such a citizen of the world, old and new." "I don't like it," George thought, as he walked on in silence by the side of his uncle--"I don't like it. And it's very plain I am not the only black sheep in the family flock, nor, I suspect, the blackest. I will see that he writes to New York; and I will tell Routh all about this when he comes, and hear what he says. My uncle will not mind my telling him now, I dare say." "When do you expect your friends, George?" asked Mr. Felton, striking the chord of George's thought, after the fashion which every one knows and nobody can explain. "To-morrow, or the day after, sir," replied George. "Routh wrote from Paris yesterday." "I am sorry for Mrs. Routh," said Mr. Felton; "she's too secretive and too cautious, too silent and too cunning, for my fancy; but she is an interesting woman and a wonderfully good wife, I am sure, though of the stony order." "That is come to her lately," said George, in an eager tone, "since her health has failed so much. You cannot imagine what a different creature she was only a little while ago. She was as bright as the sunshine and as gay as a lark. She is, indeed, a wonderful wife--the most devoted I ever knew; and her usefulness in everything, in all a woman's ordinary ways and in many quite extraordinary, in all Routh's business matters, is marvellous. Even her delicate health, though she has lost her good looks very much, and her spirits quite, has not made any alteration in that. I cannot conceive what Routh would do without her." "H'm! I wonder if he is quite so uncertain," said Mr. Felton drily, and to George's surprise. "I don't like your friend, and I don't trust Mm."