"Lucky fellow!" exclaimed Scott, "I have to go back to London and drudgery this evening: came down with my governor last night for an operation to-day. Glad to say it's all well over." But a thought had flashed into my mind: I ought not to have said so much. Drawing Scott out of the passing crowd, I spoke. "Look here, Scott: you must be cautious not to say that Bevere's down here. You must not speak of it." "Speak where?" asked Scott, turning his head towards me. He had put his arm within mine as we walked along. "Where?" "Oh--well--up with you, you know--in Bevere's old quarters. Or--or in the railway-room at the Bell-and-Clapper." Scott laughed. "_I_ understand. Madam Lizzie might be coming after him to his mother's. But--why, what an odd thing!" Some thought seemed to have struck him suddenly. He paused in his walk as well as in his speech. "I dare say it was nothing," he added, going on again. "Be at ease as to Bevere, Ludlow. I should as soon think of applying to him a lighted firebrand." "But what is it you call odd?" I asked, feeling sure that, whatever it might be, it was connected with Bevere. "Why, this," said Scott. "Last night, when we got here, I left my umbrella in the carriage, having a lot of other things to see to of my own and the governor's. I went back as soon as I found it out, but could hear nothing of it. Just now I went up again and got it"--slightly showing the green silk one he held in his hand. "A train from London came in while I stood there, bringing a heap of passengers. One of them looked like Lizzie." I could not speak from consternation. "Having nothing to do while waiting for my umbrella to be brought, I was watching the crowd flock out of the station," continued Scott. "Amidst it I saw a head of red-gold hair, just like Lizzie's. I could not see more of her than that; some other young woman's head was close to hers." "But do you think it was Lizzie?" "No, I do not. So little did I think it that it went clean out of my mind until you spoke. It must have been some accidental resemblance; nothing more; red-gold hair is not so very uncommon. There's nothing to bring her down to Brighton." "Unless she knows that he is here." "That's impossible." "What a wretched business it is altogether!" "You might well say that if you knew all," returned Scott. "She drinks like a fish. Like a fish, I assure you. Twice over she has had a shaking-fit of three days' duration--I suppose you take me, Ludlow--had to be watched in her bed; the last time was not more than a week ago. She'll do for herself, if she goes on. It's an awful clog on Bevere. The marriage in itself was a piece of miserable folly, but if she had been a different sort of woman and kept herself steady and cared for him----" "The problem to me is, how Bevere could have been led away by such a woman."