"You have not lived long enough to be very sorry about anything except your own affairs--about any trouble coming to those connected with you unless their sorrow means loss of comfort to yourself." "Do you think I am not sorry for Archie and you now?" "I am quite sure you are," she replied bitterly. "Homewood has been a pleasant house for you to live in; far pleasanter than Elm Park can ever prove." "Dolly," he interrupted, "I do not mean to call you ungrateful, but considering how I have been working on your behalf to-day--" "We need not discuss the question," she remarked as he stopped and paused. "There is no necessity now for us to go into our accounts and put down, 'I have done this, and Archie has done the other.' Before this liquidation business is ended we shall have ample opportunity of doing full justice each to the other--only--Rupert, I do not think you would have been quite so ready to leave Homewood had your opinion and that of the man Turner not to a certain extent coincided." "You wrong me greatly," he answered, "but as you say there is no necessity for us to discuss these questions now. Do go to bed, dear; you will knock yourself up if you neither rest nor sleep, and then who can see to Archie?" "Good night," she said holding out her hand, "if I have misjudged you I am sorry." He held the door open for her to pass out, and watched her as she flitted up the staircase. Had she misjudged him Rupert wondered. No. Her instinct guided her aright when reason might have failed to do so. "I suppose I am a rat," he thought, "and that by some curious intuition I did guess the ship was sinking. Knowledge and calculation had, however, nothing to do with the matter. That I can declare. Now it will perhaps be well for me to calculate. I do not much relish hearing a list of benefits conferred, recited at each interview." In his heart Rupert felt very angry. An individual must be remarkably good looking to approve of a mirror which reflects him feature by feature, wrinkle by wrinkle, exactly as he is! CHAPTER VIII. MR. SWANLAND STIRS HIS TEA. At a few minutes before six next morning, as Messrs. Lang and Hankins were coming up the road, still sleepy after the long rest afforded by the previous day, they saw Rupert Halling advancing to meet them. It was a miserable morning, raining a fine drizzling rain with a cold wind blowing at the same time, but Rupert, careless as usual of the state of the weather, walked along under the trees, his cap a little on one side, his shooting-jacket flying open, whistling a low soft melody confidentially to himself. "Good morning," he said to the men. "No one could call this a fine one. Lang, give the keys to Hankins and walk with me a little way; I want to speak to you." In a few words Mr. Halling explained his difficulty, and asked Lang to help him out of it.