"I should think he drinks a lot," he said. "He did when I was with him. But he seems to be one of those men who don’t get caught by it. To say he is a heavy drinker would be rather unfair. He has his young daughter to look after, and I think he’d be careful what he did for her sake. He’s a gentleman, though he seems to have come down in the world, and a man of refinement." He was feeling his way towards a confession. She had been so kind to him, and so wonderful in her understanding of what had impelled Harry to the course he had taken, though it had hit her hard, that his inclination was to tell her, and trust her to take the view of it that he had taken himself. But there was a fence to take before he could make a clean breast of it. He had given no promise to Harry, but Harry had trusted him to keep his secret. It might be right to tell Lady Brent of what had happened, but Harry would not think so. It wanted just the slight pressure, unconscious on her part, of what it would bring forth, to overcome his reluctance to give away Harry’s secret. So he gave her an opening to ask him about Bastian, and about Viola. But she did not take it. She seemed to be thinking of something else. "It would be sad," she said, half indifferently, "if his drinking were to affect a young daughter. I think I should like you to go to London to-morrow. It would be a great comfort to poor Charlotte to know where Harry is; and to me, too. And to be able to get messages to him." *CHAPTER XIX* *WILBRAHAM IN LONDON* In the region that lies to the north of Regent’s Park there are quiet little streets, aside from the ugly crowded main thoroughfares, which date back from the time, not so very long since, when there were pleasant suburbs here, and the open country lay within a walk of the centre of London. Wilbraham found himself unexpectedly in one of them in his search for the address that Bastian had given him, and, as he waited for admission at the door upon which he had knocked, looked about him with a sense of relief. He had expected something almost approaching squalor, and at least noise and unrest. But it was not painful to think of the girl whom Harry loved living in one of these quiet little houses.