"Oh, pretty well. No need for pretence. He must know by the general aspect of things how it is with us." "Well, give the mother a hint not to press the hospitalities." "He would not care to remain if she did, I should think; there is nothing to attract him here"; adding, with a little surprise, "but I should have thought you would have been glad to welcome anyone, dull as you find it, Laurence." "If I were not in such straits I might. You know I am at my wits' end just now; liable to be seized at any moment for that wretched debt." He had given it the name of debt to her, and she had not the slightest suspicion that it was anything worse. [Illustration: "MEREDITH WAS INTRODUCED."] At that moment Allan Meredith entered the room, which not even the shabby furniture and appurtenances of the dinner table could render mean looking, with its noble proportions, oak ceiling, carved, high chimney-piece, and oriel window. There was not sufficient carpet even for the fashion--only, indeed, one large old Turkey rug; and that was spread in the recess of the window, where were, also, a finely-carved, high-backed, well cushioned chair, small work and writing tables, and two or three other last relics of better days, devoted to the use of the invalid; a gentle, suffering-looking woman, with traces of great beauty in her thin, worn face. Meredith was introduced to her by her daughter, with a tone and look which showed she felt that she had still something to be proud of. Her pride in, and loving care of, her mother was, indeed, evident enough. Even his eyes could see how much more thought had been expended upon the invalid's toilet than upon her daughter's, of which the most that could be said was that it was neat as any village girl's might be. Mrs. Verschoyle received the stranger with the simple courtesy of good breeding. There was no allusion by word or look to the altered fortunes of the house; no attempt at explanation; but a simple, earnest welcome which had its full effect upon Allan Meredith. He noticed, too, at the table that no apologies were made for the dinner, until the contemptuous shrug of the shoulders which Laurence gave as he glanced from the dish of curried mutton at one end to the remainder of the same joint that served as the roast at the other, called forth the reply: "It is the best I could do, Laurence. There was no time to send into the town, and I hoped that Mr. Meredith might have sufficient appetite after his walk, perhaps, to be able to dine on what we have"; apologizing to her brother, as she had not felt it to be necessary to apologize to their guest. "That am I, Miss Verschoyle," he said, determined that she should see no lack of appreciation on his side. "I have eaten only a biscuit since eight o'clock this morning"; going on to explain what had brought him to the neighbourhood. "I had got a little out of condition from overwork, and----" "Overwork!" put in Laurence. "Of what kind?"