Mrs. Trevlyn sat by the drawing-room fire, enveloped in her shawl, and supported by her pillows. The thought of these things was bringing a severe look to her proud face. She had scarcely seen George since his return; had not exchanged more than ten words with him. But those ten words had not been of a cheering nature; and she feared things were not going on satisfactorily with Treve. With that hard look on her features, how wonderfully her face resembled that of her dead father! Presently George came in. Mrs. Ryle looked up eagerly at his entrance. "Are you better?" he asked, advancing, and bending with a kindly smile. "It is long since you had such a cold as this." "I shall be all right in a day or two," she answered. "Yesterday I thought I was going to have a long illness, my chest was so painful. Sit down, George. What about Treve?" "Treve was not at Oxford. He had gone to London." "You told me so. What had he gone there for?" "A little change, Ferrars said. He had been gone a week." "A little change? In plain English, a little pleasure, I suppose. Call it what you will, it costs money." George had seated himself opposite to her, his arm resting on the centre table, and the red blaze lighting up his frank, pleasant face. In figure he was tall and slight; his father, at his age, had been so before him. "Why did you not follow him to London?" resumed Mrs. Ryle. "It would have been less than a two hours' journey from Oxford." George turned his large dark eyes upon her, some surprise in them. "How was I to know where to look for him, if I had gone?" "Could Mr. Ferrars not give you his address?" "No. I asked him. Treve had not told him where he should put up. In fact, Ferrars did not think Treve knew himself. Under these circumstances, my going to town would have been only waste of time and money." "It is of no use your keeping things from me," resumed Mrs. Ryle, after a pause. "Has Treve contracted fresh debts at Oxford?" "I fancy he has. A few." "A 'few'--and you 'fancy!' George, tell me the truth. That you know he has, and that they are not a few." "That he has, I believe to be true: I gathered as much from Ferrars. But I do not think they are serious; I do not indeed." "Why did you not inquire? I would have gone to every shop in the town, in order to ascertain. If he is contracting more debts, who is to pay them?" George was silent. "When shall we be clear of Chattaway?" she abruptly resumed. "When will the last payment be due?" "In a month or two's time. Principal and interest will all be paid off then." "It will take all your efforts to make up the sum." "It will be ready, mother. It shall be." "I don't doubt it. But it will not be ready, George, if a portion is to be taken from it for Treve." George knit his brow. He was falling into thought.