Madge got back to the house in a state of bewildered excitement. She confided nothing to her sister, and Edith behaved very well, never showing even a trace of curiosity or slyness. She persisted in talking of the most everyday topic. She wondered whether Miss Grant, the dressmaker, would keep her word?--whether this would be as bad a year for roses as last? She was of opinion the cold weather would not return. Nellie Cahill had told her the new play at the Ben Jonson was a complete failure, in spite of all said to the contrary, and so on. Madge replied in monosyllables or vacant laughs. When the girls got home, each went to her own room, and they did not meet again until dinner time. Madge decided she had no occasion to speak to her mother, or any one else, about what occurred on the Dulwich Road. It would be time enough to speak when Jerry said something more definite to her, or when either her father or mother spoke to her. Jerry sought Alfred, whom he found alone in the library. He had been carried beyond himself that afternoon, and did not feel in the position to administer to his friend a lecture on prudence. Alfred was of full age, and, in the way of money, independent of his father. Let him do as he pleased and take his chance, as any other man must in similar circumstances. He himself, for instance, would take advice in his love affair from neither Fishery Commissioners nor John O'Hanlon. "How far did you go?" asked Alfred, who looked flushed, radiant. He got up and began walking slowly about the room. "Oh, a little beyond the College. It isn't a very pleasant day out of doors. We met an old flame of yours--Miss Cahill." "Miss Cahill an old flame of mine! Why, I never was more than civil to the girl in all my life! Who invented that story for you?" "I don't think it was pure invention. Edith mentioned it to us." "'To us!' Good heavens, you don't mean to say she said anything of the kind in Miss Cahill's presence?" "Well, no--not exactly in her presence, but when she was near us. How did you get on since?" Jerry's object was to keep the conversation in his own hands, and prevent Alfred asking questions. To-morrow, when they were both clear of London, he might take his friend into his confidence, but not now. "Oh, dully enough," answered Alfred, with a look of disappointment. "My father went out, my mother is busy about the house, and Mrs. Davenport is in her room. She will, I hope, be able to come down to dinner. You don't think, Jerry," he asked, anxiously, while he paused before his friend, "that her health has suffered by all she has gone through?" "No; but I am quite sure your peace of mind has," replied Jerry, with a dry smile. With all his desire to be conciliatory, he could not wholly curb his tongue.