“Mrs. Clarendon referred me to him,” Ada explained, “for information she herself could not, or did not wish to give. He says she was in the habit of applying to him for money up to about two years ago, and that he knows nothing of her at present.” “My child, why should you make those inquiries?” “Because I have a very natural desire to know whether my mother is suffering from want, and to help her if she is. It appears that nothing was left to her.” “Ada, there is only one thing I can say on this subject. I think it very unlikely indeed that you will ever hear any more of your mother. Mr. Ledbury will say no more than he has done, be sure of that.” “Then he should not have said so much.” “I myself think so. Try to put all that out of your thoughts. You are impelled by a sense of duty, I know; but remember that in the case of parent and child duties are reciprocal, or they do not exist at all. I earnestly beg you to put your mother’s existence utterly from your mind; it can never be anything but a source of misery to you. I had hoped the subject would never give you trouble. Pray do not let it, Ada.” He spoke with extreme earnestness, and his words seemed to produce an effect. When, shortly afterwards, Ada shook hands and bade him good-night, she added: “I will think much of all you have said tonight.” Then, in a lower voice, “I am not unprepared for what you would teach me.” The listener attached no special meaning to the last words; they seemed to him only dictated by good-will to himself. ***** It was with a good deal of interest that Meres went to meet Kingcote at dinner on the following day. He had got one or two fancies about the young man, which made him anxious to gauge his character for himself. He was the first of the party to arrive, and Isabel’s talk to him was about the object of his thoughts. “If you find him congenial,” she said, “it would be very good of you to ask him to come and see you now and then. You and Ada can talk about the things he cares for. Has Ada spoken of him?” “She has told me about his singular rustication,” Mr. Meres replied, trying to meet her eye. But he did not succeed. “He lives with his sister, a widow. Her I don’t know. I think--well, it seems she married somebody of an undesirable kind, and I don’t suppose she sees people. Will you make a note of his address? Pray, pray don’t let me put a burden upon you; it’s only that he has need of pleasant acquaintances----” “I quite understand,” replied the other, smiling. And, in truth, he thought he did.