Taking his place at the table, Henry gave a most amusing account of the position of his brother Francis between the mercenary opera-dancer on one side, and the unscrupulous manager of the French theatre on the other. Matters had proceeded to such extremities, that the law had been called on to interfere, and had decided the dispute in favour of Francis. On winning the victory the English manager had at once left Milan, recalled to London by the affairs of his theatre. He was accompanied on the journey back, as he had been accompanied on the journey out, by his sister. Resolved, after passing two nights of terror in the Venetian hotel, never to enter it again, Mrs. Norbury asked to be excused from appearing at the family festival, on the ground of ill-health. At her age, travelling fatigued her, and she was glad to take advantage of her brother’s escort to return to England. While the talk at the dinner-table flowed easily onward, the evening-time advanced to night—and it became necessary to think of sending the children to bed. As Agnes rose to leave the room, accompanied by the eldest girl, she observed with surprise that Henry’s manner suddenly changed. He looked serious and pre-occupied; and when his niece wished him good night, he abruptly said to her, “Marian, I want to know what part of the hotel you sleep in?” Marian, puzzled by the question, answered that she was going to sleep, as usual, with “Aunt Agnes.” Not satisfied with that reply, Henry next inquired whether the bedroom was near the rooms occupied by the other members of the travelling party. Answering for the child, and wondering what Henry’s object could possibly be, Agnes mentioned the polite sacrifice made to her convenience by Mrs. James. “Thanks to that lady’s kindness,” she said, “Marian and I are only on the other side of the drawing-room.” Henry made no remark; he looked incomprehensibly discontented as he opened the door for Agnes and her companion to pass out. After wishing them good night, he waited in the corridor until he saw them enter the fatal corner-room—and then he called abruptly to his brother, “Come out, Stephen, and let us smoke!” As soon as the two brothers were at liberty to speak together privately, Henry explained the motive which had led to his strange inquiries about the bedrooms. Francis had informed him of the meeting with the Countess at Venice, and of all that had followed it; and Henry now carefully repeated the narrative to his brother in all its details. “I am not satisfied,” he added, “about that woman’s purpose in giving up her room. Without alarming the ladies by telling them what I have just told you, can you not warn Agnes to be careful in securing her door?”