She remained alone ten minutes, at the end of which her reflexions would have been seen to be deep--were interrupted by the entrance of her husband. The interruption was indeed not so great as if the couple had not met, as they almost invariably met, in silence: she took at all events, to begin with, no more account of his presence than to hand him a cup of tea accompanied with nothing but cream and sugar. Her having no word for him, however, committed her no more to implying that he had come in only for his refreshment than it would have committed her to say: “Here it is, Edward dear--just as you like it; so take it and sit down and be quiet.” No spectator worth his salt could have seen them more than a little together without feeling how everything that, under his eyes or not, she either did or omitted, rested on a profound acquaintance with his ways. They formed, Edward’s ways, a chapter by themselves, of which Mrs. Brook was completely mistress and in respect to which the only drawback was that a part of her credit was by the nature of the case predestined to remain obscure. So many of them were so queer that no one but she COULD know them, and know thereby into what crannies her reckoning had to penetrate. It was one of them for instance that if he was often most silent when most primed with matter, so when he had nothing to say he was always silent too--a peculiarity misleading, until mastered, for a lady who could have allowed in the latter case for almost any variety of remark. “What do you think,” he said at last, “of his turning up to-day?” “Of old Van’s?” “Oh has HE turned up?” “Half an hour ago, and asking almost in his first breath for Nanda. I sent him up to her and he’s with her now.” If Edward had his ways she had also some of her own; one of which, in talk with him, if talk it could be called, was never to produce anything till the need was marked. She had thus a card or two always in reserve, for it was her theory that she never knew what might happen. It nevertheless did occur that he sometimes went, as she would have called it, one better. “He’s not with her now. I’ve just been with her.” “Then he didn’t go up?” Mrs. Brook was immensely interested. “He left me, you know, to do so.” “Know--how should I know? I left her five minutes ago.” “Then he went out without seeing her.” Mrs. Brook took it in. “He changed his mind out there on the stairs.” “Well,” said Edward, “it won’t be the first mind that has been changed there. It’s about the only thing a man can change.” “Do you refer particularly to MY stairs?” she asked with her whimsical woe. But meanwhile she had taken it in. “Then whom were you speaking of?” “Mr. Longdon’s coming to tea with her. She has had a note.” “But when did he come to town?” “Last night, I believe. The note, an hour or two ago, announced him--brought by hand and hoping she’d be at home.”