‘Oh, then I will stay,’ said Samuel bluntly. For he had things in mind which disposed him to resent this flagrant discourtesy. His voice awakened Nancy. She opened the door of the dining-room. ‘Will you sit down, Mr. Barmby, and excuse me for a few minutes?’ ‘Certainly. Don’t let me inconvenience you, Miss. Lord.’ At another time Nancy would have remarked something very unusual in his way of speaking, especially in the utterance of her name. But for the letter in her hand she must have noticed with uneasiness a certain severity of countenance, which had taken the place of Barmby’s wonted smile. As it was, she scarcely realised his presence; and, on closing the door of the room he had entered, she forthwith forgot that such a man existed. Her letter! His handwriting at last. And he was in England. She flew up to her bedroom, and tore open the envelope. He was in London; ‘Great College Street, S. W.’ A short letter, soon read. DEAREST NANCY,--I am ashamed to write, yet write I must. All your letters reached me; there was no reason for my silence but the unwillingness to keep sending bad news. I have still nothing good to tell you, but here I am in London again, and you must know of it. When I posted my last letter to you from New York, I meant to come back as soon as I could get money enough to pay my passage. Since then I have gone through a miserable time, idle for the most part, ill for a few weeks, and occasionally trying to write something that editors would pay for. But after all I had to borrow. It has brought me home (steerage, if you know what that means), and now I must earn more. If we were to meet, I might be able to say something else. I can’t write it. Let me hear from you, if you think me worth a letter.--Yours ever, dear girl, L. For a quarter of an hour she stood with this sheet open, as though still reading. Her face was void of emotion; she had a vacant look, cheerless, but with no more decided significance. Then she remembered that Samuel Barmby was waiting for her downstairs. He might have something to say which really concerned her. Better see him at once and get rid of him. With slow step she descended to the dining-room. The letter, folded and rolled, she carried in her hand. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Barmby.’ ‘Don’t mention it. Will you sit down?’ ‘Yes, of course.’ She spoke abstractedly, and took a seat not far from him. ‘I was just going out, but--there’s no hurry.’ ‘I hardly know how to begin. Perhaps I had better prepare you by saying that I have received very strange information.’ His air was magisterial; he subdued his voice to a note of profound solemnity. ‘What sort of information?’ asked Nancy vaguely, her brows knitted in a look rather of annoyance than apprehension. ‘Very strange indeed.’ ‘You have said that already.’ Her temper was failing. She felt a nervous impulse to behave rudely, to declare the contempt it was always difficult to disguise when talking with Barmby.