From various allusions which he let fall before he went away, he gave her to understand that he knew Michael had been at the doctor’s party. Eleanor tried to ignore these hints, and to look openly at Gilbert when he spoke of his brother; but her heart was hot within her, with mingled fear and indignation; fear lest he should even yet harbour some scheme of harm against Michael; indignation at what she considered his audacity in naming him, and a miserable sense that she had better not provoke him, or the results might be bad for Otho. Gilbert sought her society no more; he had no more of those pleasant, gentle things to say to her, such as he had uttered on the night of the concert. She became convinced that he regarded her with dislike, if not with enmity, and she withdrew herself as much as possible from his and Otho’s society. Gilbert had yet another twist to give to the tangled coil into which her thoughts had got, concerning him, and he did it ingeniously. He was alone with her in the drawing-room, after dinner, on the evening before the day on which he and Otho were to depart. He took a card case from his pocket, extracted a card from it, and gave it to her. ‘That is my London address,’ said he, with the blandest of smiles. ‘If you should ever—since you will remain at Thorsgarth—find yourself involved in difficulties with Otho, or in any other circumstances in which the advice of a—business man would be of any use to you, telegraph there to me, and I will be with you within four-and-twenty hours.’ ‘Oh, Mr. Langstroth——’ ‘Don’t, pray, trouble yourself to express any gratitude. How do you know what dark motives may lurk beneath my seeming kindness? We leave by the seven-thirty train in the morning, so I shall not be likely to see you again. I will therefore wish you good-bye now.’ ‘Good-bye,’ said she, hesitatingly, feeling as if she ought to add something to the baldness of the word, but utterly at a loss to know what that something should be. ‘I shall, I hope, be here again for the shooting, if not before,’ said Gilbert. ‘I shall hope to find you well, and as pleased with Thorsgarth—and Bradstane, too—as you are now.’ With which he left her, with his words, and the tone of them, echoing in her ears, and with the shadow of his shadowy smile floating still before her eyes. She was as far as ever from being able to decide whether he was a gross hypocrite, or only a man who had once done very wrong, and was now trying to do very right. That he might be something between the two did not occur to her. CHAPTER XXXI BRASS POTS AND EARTHENWARE PIPKINS