He took her hand within both his, and pressed it fervently, making no further reply. And just then the fly pulled up in the Strand. "I have not asked about your mother," said Miss Upton, as he stood at the door to say farewell after getting out. "She is pretty well, now." "And your sister? Does she get over that wretched business of Robert Dalrymple's?" "Of course--in a degree. Time softens most things. But she will never forget him." He shook hands finally with Miss Upton; he walked on to his house in Leadenhall Street, his step flagging, his heart weary. Entering his own private room, he found two ladies within it. His mother, who was seated in the most easy chair the room afforded; and his sister. Mrs. Lynn was a tall, dignified, upright woman still: her beautiful grey eyes were just like his own, her refined countenance, sickly now, bore yet its marks of unusual intellect. "Mother!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "How glad I am to see you!" "I drove up to the Bank upon a little matter of business, and came on to see you after it was transacted," she explained, as he kissed her. "It is unusual to find you out at this time of day, Francis; but the clerks thought you would be in soon, and I waited. I am glad of the rest; the journey has so tired me." "Why will you not let me do your matters of business for you, mother?" he tenderly asked, as he busied himself to get a glass of wine for her and some biscuits. "Because so long as I _can_ do things for myself, I like to do them," she answered, "and my old-fashioned chariot is an easy one: I do not care to become quite the incapable old woman before the necessity for it inevitably sets in. And now, how is it with yourself, Francis? Your brow wore a troubled look as you entered." Never did Francis Grubb give a more genial smile than now. Not even to his mother would he willingly show his care. "It is quite well with me," he laughed; "well and flourishing. Take your wine, mother." "Your wife?" whispered Mrs. Lynn, in a tone of doubt--of pain. "Is she--more friendly?" "Oh, we are friendly enough--quite so," he lightly answered, angry with himself for not being able to suppress the flush that rose at the question. "Is that a new dress you have on, Mary? It is marvellously pretty." "If her child had only lived!" sighed Mrs. Lynn, alluding to Lady Adela. "Quite new; new on today; and I am very glad you admire it," gaily answered Mary, as she spread out the dress with both hands, and turned herself about on her brother's dull red carpet for inspection. She was as thankful to drown the other subject as he was: she knew, unhappily, more about it than her mother. "I am going out on a visit, so of course I must have some pretty things." "Going where?" "To Lawn Cottage, at Netherleigh. Mrs. Dalrymple wants me--she is lonely there. I can only spare her a week, though: it will not do to leave mamma for longer. Alice is at Lady Sarah Hope's, you know, and Selina is in town, the gayest of the gay."