But unhappily, he could not feel sure that Denver himself was honest, and his memories of the day spent at the Priory were by no means of a sort to leave upon his mind an impression of unmixed innocence and bliss. Was Denver one of the guiding spirits of a conspiracy, of which the man with the white mustache was a member? And was Denver anxious to marry Rachel in order to make stronger the bonds in which she was held? Against this notion there stood out the remembrance of the rest of the Van Santen family; his knowledge that the father was a man of wealth and good repute; the mother a good creature incapable of guile; the daughters charming women, of whom it was difficult to suspect anything wrong; the two brothers indeed were not so satisfactory, but there was this to be said of Denver, that he boasted openly of his skill at cards, and was ready to challenge all comers. Of the plain-featured Harry, with the hard, sunless smile, Gerard knew nothing. Whether he won or lost at cards he did not talk about his luck, and his manner was as quiet and reticent as that of his brother was swaggering and loud. Somehow Gerard did not trust him the more on that account. While Gerard was still smarting from the blow of Rachel’s letter, he was much surprised on reaching home to his chambers one afternoon at about five o’clock, to hear that a lady had called to see him, and not finding him, had said that she would call again between five and six. While he was still asking questions about this mysterious lady, with certain absurd but undefined hopes in his heart, he was informed that she had come back again, and there was ushered into his presence, to his intense astonishment, the homely figure of Mrs. Van Santen. He was so much surprised that for the moment he could scarcely greet her. He at once guessed that she had something to tell which he should not care to hear. “You didn’t expect to see me, did you, Mr. Buckland? I guess you are about as surprised as if the Empress of Morocco had looked in.” “I didn’t expect this pleasure, certainly. It is all the greater,” stammered Gerard, as he offered her a chair, and ordered some tea. “No, don’t you trouble to get me any tea. I’ve had some,” said the good lady, as she settled herself in his best arm-chair, and looked round the room. “And so these are bachelor chambers, are they? And do you do your own house-keeping, Mr. Buckland?” “Some of it,” said Gerard, smiling. “Not always very successfully.” “I wonder you don’t suit yourself with a wife, Mr. Buckland?” “I’ve had thoughts of it sometimes. But on the whole--” “They tell me,” and she suddenly turned upon him a pair of eyes which he saw to be full of unexpected shrewdness, “that you had thoughts of Miss Davison.” He grew pale at the remark. “Unfortunately she had no thoughts of me,” he said hurriedly.