Mrs. Travers heard Molly go to her room and close the door. She decided that charity would keep better than Mr. Pollin's gossip, so she descended to the drawing-room as fast as her weight would allow. They shook hands cordially; after which Mr. Pollin stood respectfully until his sister got safely deposited in the strongest chair in the room. Mr. Pollin was a gossip, as I have previously stated, but many of his stories were harmless. He dressed in the height of fashion, and, in spite of his full figure, carried himself jauntily. In his youth (before he had come in for his modest property, and mastered whist) he had studied law, and it was rumoured that he had even tried to write scholarly articles and book reviews for the daily press. At one stage in his career his sister and the late bishop had really trembled for his respectability; but their fears had proved to be unfounded, for, lacking encouragement from the editors, Mr. Pollin had settled down to unbroken conventionality. Mr. Pollin's features resembled his sister's, but his mouth was more given to smiling, and his eyes held a twinkle, while hers were dimly lit with a gleam of cold calculation. To-day Mr. Pollin had quite unexpected news, at first-hand from an Irish acquaintance of his, a Major O'Grady. But he did not blurt it out, as a lesser gossip would have done. "Have you seen Harry Penthouse lately?" he asked. "Not for two days," said the lady. Mr. Pollin crossed his knees with an effort, and tried to look over his waistcoat at his polished boots. "He returns to his regiment shortly," added Mrs. Travers. Her brother coughed gently, and scrutinized the ring on his finger with an intensity that seemed quite uncalled for. "What is the matter?" cried the lady, breathless with the suspense. "Nothing, my dear, although I hardly envy Harry. I'm afraid he will find his regiment a rather uncomfortable place," replied Pollin. "Do you mean the regiment, or his quarters, Richard?" "His quarters are comfortable enough for a better man," replied the elderly dandy, with a slight ring of emotion in his voice. "Richard," exclaimed the dame, "what are you hinting about your nephew?" "No nephew of mine," replied the other, "nor even of yours, I think. Poor Charles and old Sir Peter were first cousins, were they not?" "But they were just like brothers," she urged. "It's a pity young Penthouse hadn't been spanked more in his early youth," remarked Mr. Pollin. Mrs. Travers began to feel decidedly uneasy. Could it be that Harry had, in some way, forfeited his chances of the estate and title? Could it be that the invalid brother, the unsociable, close-fisted one, had married? But she did not put the questions. "What rash thing has the young man done?" she inquired.