‘Ah! ah! you’re cautious,’ pronounced the old gentleman; ‘you don’t give more testimony than you are obliged--well, well, I don’t blame you, a loose tongue runs to mischief--and mischief is a thing you don’t deal in, I’ll be bound. Well, well, I won’t ask you for more than you like to say--my niece is an orphan, but she can take care of herself.’ ‘She sings most beautiful, sir,’ said Mrs Robson, who thought it right to put in a word of praise. ‘There’s some songs she has about love, and parting, and spring-time--I assure you, sir, they ’ud make you cry to hear.’ ‘About love! I don’t doubt it,’ said Mr Lee, very drily, ‘but I don’t cry easily, I never did!’ And then, turning suddenly, as if he would change the subject; ‘But there’s the lad; what have you to say of him?’ His question was so sudden, and came so unexpectedly, that Mrs Robson had not a word to say. ‘The boy, my nephew! you must know him by now; doesn’t he live here with his sister?’ ‘He’s a well-looking young gentleman, sir,’ said Mrs Robson, with hesitation, yet with some satisfaction too; because she had been able to choose from the qualities of Mr James Gillan the one virtue at any rate that could not be denied. Her words, however, did not please her questioner; he drew down his eyebrows into a more decided frown. ‘Well-looking? I do not doubt it,’ he replied at last; ‘his mother was a pretty lass when she was young--if she chose to bestow herself on a foreign scamp, that was her misfortune an’ wasn’t no fault o’ mine. Well-looking? ah, yes! that’s only half the tale; how does he employ himself, what does he do?’ ‘He’s in the town most-whiles, sir,’ murmured Mrs Robson, with a hesitation that was more marked than before. Alice stood meanwhile by her mother, grim and silent; these questions on the absent did not commend themselves to her. ‘In the town--ah! yes--I daresay--what does he do there?’ ‘I don’t know, sir.’ ‘Hum--hum--’ Again there was silence--a longer pause this time. Mr Lee’s clenched hand rested once more on the table; he kept on unclenching the fingers and closing them again, but not with the manner of one who is irresolute, rather that of one whose motions keep time with his resolve. In fact, he had not delayed to form his resolution, and he was accustomed to hold to his ideas tenaciously. ‘Ah, well,’ he said, arranging the collar of his coat, as if to prepare to go out of doors at once, ‘it is getting late, and the evenings close in early, I must be ready to go back to the town--I say, my good woman,’ he added suddenly, ‘will you remember a message if I give you one?’