There is a feature in insincerity which always betrays itself. I know not well in what it lies, this error of demeanour, which shows us that there is something very different flowing on under an apparently calm and clear stream of conversation. But so it has ever been; and it is hardly possible to deceive any one well practised in the world's ways, as to the ingenuousness or disingenuousness of the persons with whom he is brought into contact. The object may not be discerned; the thoughts, the passions, the motives, the wishes, the plans, may all remain hidden; but what we see is that the surface and the depth are different. In the present instance, however, I must add, for the reader's information, that, in many respects, Sir John Newark's words and demeanour towards Smeaton were sincere. He was truly glad to see him at Ale Manor; he was unaffectedly grateful to him both for delivering Emmeline and for defending his son; he was really anxious, also, that he should remain for some time at Ale Manor. But yet a good deal was concealed; and Smeaton, perceiving this last fact, doubted, in some degree, all the rest. At all events, he said to himself, "That is not a sincere man. It is clear that what the people in London told me of him is true." Every care and attention had been bestowed upon the preparations for Smeaton's comfort; two rooms in Ale Manor had been arranged for him; for the house had abundant space for its inmates; and the good old-fashioned furniture, ponderous but convenient, had been freshly dusted and arranged, the windows thrown open, and free air and sunshine admitted, so that the whole bore a cheerful and pleasant look. The outer chamber had been arranged as a sort of sitting-room; the inner contained an enormous four-post bed, with blue velvet hangings; and the small quantity of baggage, which Smeaton had sent on with his servant, was already deposited in the first chamber, and spread out ready for his use. A hand-bell stood upon the table; and, on introducing him into his apartment, Sir John observed, "I am sorry to say that, in this part of the house, there are no bells hung, but your servant has been placed on the opposite side of the court, so that, by just opening the casement at any time, you can summon him by that instrument on the table." Thus saying, he left him, giving him notice of the hour of dinner, which was now approaching; and, even before proceeding to change his traveller's dress, Smeaton sat down in one of the large easy chairs, to meditate over his present situation and his prospects.