“I shouldn’t say he went up to London more than three days a week on an average; his heart has been wrapt up in Effington ever since he bought it from young Sedgemere a few years ago. When we lived in London itself, he used to work much harder.” “Oh, you lived in London before you came here,” said Leonard, who learned this fact for the first time. Certainly Stormont was a very reticent fellow about strictly personal matters. He had never made any allusion to a previous home which, from his intense fondness for rural life, the young man fancied might have been in the country. “Yes, we had a dear old eighteenth-century house in Curzon Street. It was very comfortable and convenient, but my aunt and I welcomed the change as much as he did. I should hate to go back to town life again after this sweet Effington.” “I suppose you had a very large circle of acquaintances in town?” asked Lydon, still pursuing his questioning. “Not large at all, considering the fact that my uncle seemed so well off,” was the frank answer. “He honestly owns that he is not very fond of general society. He has a few friends who come down here now and again. There were some of them with us on your first visit. Of course we know a lot of people round about here, in fact a great many more than in London.” “You travel a great deal, don’t you? Mr. Stormont seems well acquainted with all the principal places in Europe.” This was one of the subjects on which her uncle had not been reticent. His knowledge of the Continent, of the customs and habits of the different foreign nations, was extensive and exhaustive, and he always seemed pleased to air it. “Oh, uncle is a tremendous traveller; he has been everywhere and seen everything; but he has not travelled so much since we have been here, a matter of some five years. Before that he used to be away the greater part of the year. Sometimes my aunt and I went with him, but usually he went alone. His business took him a good deal abroad, you know.” Here was the opportunity he had been waiting for, and he hastened to seize it. “It seems rather funny, one learns these things so soon, as a rule. But I have never heard what your uncle’s business is.” Gloria’s reply was perfectly free from embarrassment. “It is connected with finance; I suppose he is what you call a financier.” So the secret was out: the owner of Effington Hall was a financier. Well, there were a good many people belonging to that profession, some of them quite reputable, controlling vast interests, some of them quite the reverse, addicted to very shady doings. No doubt the rubicund Stormont was one of the respectable ones, but why the deuce had he been so reticent about it? The proper pursuit of finance was quite a respectable calling. When a man does not openly mention his occupation, his silence rather gives you the idea he is secretly ashamed of it.