The talk that followed was chiefly carried on between the tradesman and Miss Marjory, Tor contenting himself by assenting to what was proposed, and throwing in an observation from time to time for form’s sake. He followed Miss Marjory’s advice to the letter, however, and looked well at Belassis, bestowing such careful scrutiny upon him as would have astonished him, had he been made aware of it. Yes, Tor was quite convinced that there was some vague likeness between this young builder and Philip’s Uncle Belassis. There was something similar in build and in voice; and several little tricks of manner were strongly alike. The younger man was a far pleasanter specimen of humanity, quiet, civil, and unassuming, yet thoroughly up to his work, and able to grasp Miss Marjory’s meaning, and even to make notes, in spite of her rapid delivery, which puzzled Tor more than once. So he watched attentively, and the conviction became stronger, and a sense of vague bewilderment grew up, as he traced more and more of the Belassis form and colouring in this Whitbury tradesman who bore their name. What it could all mean, he was at a loss to imagine. When Belassis was gone, Miss Marjory turned round with something of triumph in her tone. ‘Well, and what do you say to that? What have you made out there?’ ‘He must come of the same stock, I think,’ said Tor slowly. ‘He certainly is rather like my uncle, unless my fancy has deceived me.’ ‘I do not imagine that it has,’ said Miss Marjory significantly. ‘You believe he belongs to that family?’ asked Tor. ‘I have never heard of him!’ ‘Probably not.’ ‘You think, as a poor relation, he has been kept in the background purposely?’ ‘Alfred Belassis is by no means a poor man. He is very well-to-do in the world.’ ‘But still in trade.’ ‘Yes, in trade; but do you think a wealthy man, even in trade, would be quite beneath Alfred Belassis’ notice?’ ‘I see you know more than I do, Miss Marjory,’ said Tor, the feeling of perplexity growing slowly upon him. ‘Won’t you confide in me now, and tell me what it is?’ ‘Come into the shrubbery, then, where we can talk uninterrupted. I do not know much, but I suspect a good deal. Perhaps we can piece it together.’ Tor followed her, wondering, but not seeing the end. Was this what she meant by ‘putting a spoke in Belassis’ wheel’? ‘Now,’ said Miss Marjory, seating herself upon a rustic chair, and bidding Tor follow her example. ‘I suppose, as you are a man, you don’t see an inch before your nose as yet? Men never do.’ Tor was forced to admit that he didn’t. ‘Now, who do you suppose was the father of that young man?’ ‘Was it a brother of Belassis?—a brother who made a low marriage and was cast off, and never heard of more? That’s what I fancy must have taken place.’