Scawthorne nodded a grave and confidential affirmative. He had never given Mrs. Byass reason to suppose that he knew anything of Joseph’s whereabouts, but Bessie’s thoughts naturally turned in that direction.
“The news comes to me by chance,” he continued. “I think I ought to communicate it to Miss Snowdon privately, and leave her to let you know what it is, as doubtless she will. Would it be inconvenient to you to let me have the use of your parlour for five minutes?”
“I’ll go and light the gas at once, and tell Miss Snowdon.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Byass.”
He was nervous, a most unusual thing with him. Till Bessie’s return he paced the room irregularly, chewing the ends of his moustache. When it was announced to him that the parlour was ready he went down, the letter in his hand. At the half-open door came a soft knock. Jane entered.
She showed signs of painful agitation.
“Will you sit down. Miss Snowdon? It happens that I have a correspondent in the United States, who has lately had—had business relations with Mr. Joseph Snowdon, your
