"I am afraid," she said next, "that the poor things _have_ increasing cause for anxiety and distress. Without cross-questioning Dr Meeke, which of course he wouldn't allow, I could not but gather from him that he is _very_ anxious about the younger brother. He, the lame Mr Grey, has not been at church for weeks past." This news saddened me. Surely our escapade had in no way brought fresh trouble to the Grim House, even though indirectly? It might have rendered the elder man still more anxious and uneasy, and diminished what little cheerfulness his sisters and brother had managed to preserve among them. For I had never wavered in my first intuition, that Mr Grey himself was the centre of the mystery, and the words I had overheard had deepened this impression. I turned to Isabel rather abruptly, as another thought struck me. "Have they had any more visitors?" I asked. "Have you seen the man of the pocket-book again?" Isabel shook her head. "No," she replied; "I am pretty sure no one but Dr Meeke has crossed their threshold since you were with us. How _deadlily_ dull it must be for them--one day just like another all the year round, excepting the variety the seasons must bring!" "And added to that," I said, "this winter, the daily suspense as to what the doctor would say about their brother, who is their darling, I am perfectly certain. Oh, poor people, poor people!" After this conversation I do not think the Greys were alluded to again during Isabel's stay with us. She had told me all there was to tell, and even had there been more news, she would probably not have heard it, her father not being at Millflowers. The two or three weeks of her visit passed all too quickly, far too quickly for me, for more reasons than the pleasure of her society. She had scarcely left us when the preparations began for my stay in London, which, to suit our cousin's-- Lady Bretton's--arrangements, was to be rather earlier than had been originally intended. Mother was a little surprised at my distaste for the idea of it. She knew I was not specially shy, nor constitutionally timid, like dear little Isabel, and I myself could scarcely explain why the prospect had so little attraction for me. "It is just that I shall feel `out of it all,'" I said, "and Lady Bretton will think me stupider than I am, and will wish she hadn't troubled herself about me! I know it will be like that, mother. I do wish you would give it up, even now." But mother, as I have said, could be firm enough when occasion called for it, besides which, I well knew that any appeal to my father would be worse than useless, and only irritate him. So mother ignored my last sentence altogether.