Affecting to occupy himself with the books upon the table, Norwood watched the dialogue with keen but stealthy glances, and then, as the other turned suddenly round, said, “How d' ye do, Sir Stafford? I am glad to see you looking so well.” “I thank you, my Lord; I am perfectly well,” said he, with a most repelling coldness. “You are surprised to see me in Florence, for certain,” said the other, with a forced laugh. “Very much surprised to see you here, my Lord,” was the abrupt reply. “Ha! ha! ha! I thought so!” cried Norwood, laughing, and pretending not to feel the point of the remark. “But, nowadays, one flits about the world in slippers and dressing-gown, and travelling inflicts no fatigue. I only left England ten days ago.” “The post comes in seven, my Lord,” said Sir Stafford. “I have had letters this morning, written this day week, and which give the last events in Town Life up to the very hour.” “Indeed! and what's the news, then?” said he, negligently. “If your Lordship will favor me with your company for a few minutes, I may be able to enlighten you,” said Sir Stafford, moving towards the door. “With the greatest pleasure. Good-bye, Lady Hester,” said he, rising. “You said seven o'clock dinner, I think?” “Yes,” replied she, but in a voice almost inarticulate from shame and terror. “Now, Sir Stafford, I 'm at your orders,” said the Viscount, gayly, as he left the room, followed by the old man, whose crimson cheek and flashing eye bespoke the passion which was struggling within him. Of the two who now entered Sir Stafford's library, it must be owned that Lord Norwood was, by many degrees, the more calm and collected. No one, to have looked at him, could possibly have supposed that any question of interest, not to say of deep moment, awaited him; and as he carried his eyes over the well-filled shelves and the hand some fittings of the chamber, nothing could be more naturally spoken than the few complimentary expressions on Sir Stafford's good taste and judgment. “I shall not ask you to be seated, my Lord,” said the old Baronet, whose tremulous lip and shaking cheek showed how deep-felt was his agitation. “The few moments of interview I have requested will be, I have no doubt, too painful to either of us, nor could we desire to prolong them. To me, I own, they are very, very painful.” These hurried, broken, and unconnected sentences fell from him as he searched for a letter among a number of others that littered the table. Lord Norwood bowed coldly, and, without making any reply, turned his back to the fire, and waited in patience. “I have, I fear, mislaid the letter,” said Sir Stafford, whose nervous anxiety had now so completely mastered him that he threw the letters and papers on every side without perceiving it. The Viscount made no sign, but suffered the search to proceed without remark.